Advent 2020

A DVENT 2020 It is my pleasure to offer to the Belmont University community our 17th annual Advent Guide. May we call out together, “Comfort, Comfort Ye My People.”

Advent is that season of waiting that carefully and purposefully helps us to realign our priorities and to glimpse, anew, our place and hope before God. It is a time we can call out for God to come among us and comfort us. Comfort us, Emmanuel!

Our hope is these devotionals help all who read to prepare their hearts and minds for the coming of Jesus. Each day, please read the scripture and the accompanying brief devotion. Pause for a moment in your daily life and begin to make a space in your heart for the coming Christ.

This Advent Guide comes from faculty, staff, and students who begin longing for Advent in September when they work on this guide. I am thankful for their kind and thoughtful participation. Join them now in longing for the coming Christ!

I am grateful to Thomas Burns, the Provost of Belmont University, for his annual support of this project. I also especially thank Tola Pokrywka, Assistant to the Dean for the College of Theology and Christian Ministry. Tola concludes her fifth year with us during this Advent season and we are deeply grateful for her faithful service, love for students, and commitment to the work of the CTCM! Without her, this Advent Guide would not happen.

We need the comfort of Emmanuel this Advent season. Come, Emmanuel! Comfort your people! May all our hearts call out together this year for Emmanuel to come among us, heal our hearts, restore our land, and bring us close to God! May the Christ come to all of us this Christmas!

Blessings,

Dr. Darrell Gwaltney Dean, College of Theology & Christian Ministry

G U IDE TO D AILY PRAY ER OPENING P RAY ER Comfort, comfort your people, O God! Speak peace to your people.

Comfort those who sit in darkness and mourn, Forgive us our sins and end the conflict in our lives.

CONFESSION OF SIN Reflect quietly before God asking for forgiveness for all those things done and left undone that are unpleasing to God. Remember, “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

1 John 1.9

SC RI PT UR E L ESSON S Read the Psalms for the day.

Read the Old Testament passage for the day.

Read the Gospel passage for the day.

Read the Epistle passage for the day.

P RAYER S The following is a suggested guide for prayer during Advent.

Pray for all Christians around the world and especially for those who endure persecution for their faith.

Pray for our nation and all those in authority.

Pray that Christ’s peace may cover the world. Pray for the end of conflict and war and the triumph of truth and justice.

Pray for all those who engage in the educational ministry of the Church and especially for Belmont University.

Pray for those who suffer and grieve.

As a closing prayer, read the words to Comfort, Comfort Ye My People appointed for the week.

1

WEEK ON E Comfort, comfort, ye My people, Speak ye peace, thus saith our God; Comfort those who sit in darkness, Mourning 'neath their sorrows' load.

Speak ye to Jerusalem Of the peace that waits for them; Tell her that her sins I cover And her warfare now is over.

3

SUNDAY, N OVEM BER 29  Psalms 111, 112, 113, 146, 147  Isaiah 1.1–9  Matthew 25.1–13  2 Peter 3.1–10 On the second Sunday of Advent in 1941, Japanese pilots bombed Pearl Harbor and shortly thereafter the United States declared war on Japan and Germany, abandoning the shred of hope that the nation could be spared another World War. Christmas of 1941 carried a somberness in the background of family celebrations. In 1942, Frank Loesser published sheet music for a patriotic song entitled, Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition. I always get nervous when religion and patriotism get mixed together. However, I understand the emotional tug to believe that God is on our side when we get into deeply troubling times.

As I write this devotional near the end of September, times are deeply troubling. The COVID-19 pandemic continues to rage. Politically and socially, Americans are badly divided and a dark cloud looms in the background. Many of us would just as soon skip 2020. By the time you are reading this, things may have gotten better, or things may have gotten worse. But this much I know, regardless of inner or outer turmoil, praising the Lord is not conditioned on the world being what we would like for it to be.

All five of our Psalms for today begin emphatically—Praise the LORD! Psalms of praise serve as a reminder that no matter what the world looks like at any particular moment and what our personal emotional state is in a particular moment, THE GREAT I AM is with us. As I tell my students in Understanding the Bible, the capitalization means something. Scholars refer to the name for God used here as the Tetragrammaton—YHWH serve as substitutes for the Hebrew consonants. Because it was taboo to pronounce the name, adonai (Lord) was substituted, but by capitalizing LORD, the integrity of the Tetragrammaton is preserved.

One cannot render a definitive translation of YHWH, which also says something about the mystery of the divine. However, some attempts follow: I am who I am; I will be who I will be; I cause what is to be.

Reflexively, the Tetragrammaton may be translated as I will be with you. In good times and in bad times we have this assurance from the divine: I will be with you. This Advent, I say Praise the LORD and pass the good news along!

Marty Bell Professor of Religion

4

M O NDAY, N OVEM BER 30  Psalms 1, 2, 3, 4, 7  Isaiah 1.10–20  Luke 20.1–8  1 Thessalonians 1.1–10 I am sure the validation of “this year is weird, hard, and unexpected” coupled with the statement of “Christmas is not the same this year” will be overheard in most of our conversations—maybe even overstated. From global health crises, national racial tensions, to local natural disasters, we see the suffering. This year has a different taste to many of us. And celebrating Christmas may easily fall in the same bucket of weirdness.

By the time we reach Christmas, a typical time of celebration and warmth, I imagine my soul dragging my feet while attempting to lunge towards joy—desperate for something to celebrate. Typically, I’d rush to persuade my spirit to find joy, to be excited, to be eager, to be alert.

But what if today, I let my feet drag? What if I let my heart hold space for the suffering? What if I let my strength deflate in the arms of the Spirit?

What if I let the heaviness I am feeling exist without trying to overpower it?

As I prepare for the time of celebration of Jesus’ birth, I am encouraged by the Thessalonians who received the gospel and were empowered by the Spirit. I find a genuine hospitality in God when I know that this weary, mourning heart is in the most ready-position to receive the gospel and turn towards the celebration of Jesus—that my deflatedstrength, my dragging-feet, my tiresome-mind, and all the big and small feelings are welcomed at the feet of our Savior.

Sister and brother, let’s pray together.

Let’s take a deep breath in. And release with a big sigh, let your shoulders and jaw relax.

Again, breathe in . . . and breathe out.

Alternate your breathing as you follow the prayer and return to your breathing if you get distracted. Be reminded of the Holy Spirit filling and releasing your every breath.

Spirit, lift my head to see you and hold me gently when I unravel Nurturer, thank you for your joy as I hold space for the suffering Spirit, encourage my heart to hold steadfast to hope as I remember our Savior Teacher, show me how to grow in love and unity, and be kind to myself and those around me Spirit, I join in celebration and thankfulness Jesus, I celebrate you Amen.

Shanty Luna CTCM Alumni

5

T UESDAY, D ECEM BER 1  Psalms 5, 6, 10, 11  Isaiah 1.21–3  Luke 20.9–18  1 Thessalonians 2.1–12 One of my favorite sections of Handel’s Messiah is the magnificent aria, “But Who May Abide the Day of His Coming?” (If you’ve never heard the 1992 soul version by Patti Austin, go listen to it now.

Consider it a Christmas present from me.) The text of the aria comes from Malachi 3—the penultimate chapter of the Old Testament.

There the Lord promises that he will return to his temple and to his people. This very good news of imminent return is immediately followed, however, by a sober warning: “But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner's fire and like fullers' soap“ (Malachi 3.2). This rather severe passage from Malachi may help us understand the connection between today’s scripture—Isaiah 1.21–31—and Advent.

Certainly, the tone of Isaiah’s prophecy is just as stern as Malachi’s warning. “I will turn my hand against you,” (1.25) warns the Lord.

Israel has failed to be the nation God has called her to be: “Your rulers are rebels, companions of thieves; they all love bribes and chase after gifts. They do not defend the cause of the fatherless” (1.23). So then, we might ask: should this sort of nation—a nation of violence and injustice—await the arrival of her King with eagerness, or with trembling?

Indeed, the arrival of the Holy One in our midst is not only a moment of deliverance, but a moment of judgment. As we celebrate the advent of the One who “will proclaim justice” (Matt. 12.18), we become more keenly aware of the injustices around us. As we look to the coming of the One who blessed the peacemakers (Matt. 5.9), we are reminded of the ways we have failed to participate in the making of peace. As we anticipate the King who comes as a Servant (Mark 10.45, John 13.14), we may remember the occasions—large and small—when instead, we have pursued power and privilege.

And yet, Isaiah’s word of judgment is also a word of hope. The justice God promises here pushes toward the goal of purifying, rather than simply punishing. “I will thoroughly purge away your dross, and remove all your impurities,” the Lord says. “You will be called the City of Righteousness” (Is. 1.25-26). So we prepare for the Advent of our King with humility, aware of the ways our lives don’t reflect his Kingdom. And we prepare for Advent with hopefulness, aware our King is not only pure, but purifying—a refiner’s fire; and he will be “faithful and just to purify us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1.9).

Steve Guthrie Professor of Theology/Religion & The Arts

6

W E D NESDAY, D ECEMBER 2  Psalms 12, 13, 14, 119.1–24  Isaiah 2.1–11  Luke 20.19–26  1 Thessalonians 2.13–20 Most of us are very familiar with our Gospel text for today. It is the story of the scribes and chief priests trying to trap Jesus by asking Him about paying taxes. They ask Jesus if it is against the Jewish law for them to pay taxes to the Roman emperor. If Jesus answered “Yes,” he would be going against the emperor, and if Jesus answered “No” he would be going against the Jewish law. The scribes and chief priests were hoping to use either answer to get rid of Jesus.

Jesus answers them in a way that overturns the question. He asks them for the coin with which they will pay the taxes. Jesus sees the image of the emperor and his title on the coin. Jesus then tells the scribes and chief priests, and all who are listening, to pay to the emperor the coin with his likeness and title on it, and to give to God those with God’s image.

Many Christians have interpreted this to mean it is okay to pay taxes, even to a corrupt government. This is usually where the interpretation ends. However, the weight and force of Jesus’ response rests on the second half of his reply.

Giving to God the things which are God’s was a mysterious religious statement that confused the scribes and chief priests and kept Jesus from being trapped. It was also an exhortation to them and to us to give to God what God has already marked. We are created in the image of God. We have the image of God stamped on us. God is inscribed within us.

When Caesar was paid taxes, he might have gotten some coins with tiny, pitiful images of himself. He thought he was getting a tribute from the people, a treasure, but the real treasure is us. And the scribes and the chief priests were so amazed that they became silent. Take a few moments during this Advent season to think about the wonder and joy of being created in the image of God and how our lives are a tribute to God. Ann Coble Lecturer

7

T H U R SDAY, D ECEM BER 3  Psalms 18.1–20, 18.21–50  Isaiah 2.12–22  Luke 20.27–40  1 Thessalonians 3.1–13 In Psalm 18 we read of a God who “parted the heavens and came down.” What was a descriptive metaphor in the Old Testament was fulfilled in literal fashion 1,000 years later when God took on human flesh in the womb of Mary and “came down” to Bethlehem.

Psalm 18 gives this God who “parted the heavens and came down” the title “Savior,” for as the Psalmist writes, “he rescued me from my powerful enemy,” and thus is “my Deliverer.” God had often rescued his people Israel from earthly evils such as enslavement by Egypt or oppression by the Philistines, and he did it using earthly means. But in Jesus, the one true God comes in person to rescue us from both earthly and spiritual evils by grace through faith.

If Jesus is just a great moral teacher, along the lines of Socrates or Confucius or the Buddha, then we can consult his teachings as we like. But Jesus is more than that, for “who is God beside the Lord?”

If that is the case, then what else can humanity do but give our total allegiance to Jesus and say, “Exalted be God my Savior!”

This is what is happening worldwide: China is on track to be the country with the largest Protestant population in the world within a decade; Ethiopia has more Lutherans than the U.S.; and Africa went from being over 80% Muslim to majority Christian in the past century.

But in the U.S., we are seeing a dramatic decrease in the number of people who believe that Jesus should be worshipped and served as Savior and Lord. Although one seldom meets a person who doesn’t admire Jesus himself, increasing numbers of Americans are walking away from churches that are much too sleepy, as well as from a nationalistic Christianity that is much too active.

Yet the very things that drive us crazy about the failings of churches should draw us back to the Christ-child, to give ourselves once again in thankful wonder the one who “parted the heavens and came down.”

The Muslim scholar turned Christ-follower, Dr. Lamin Sanneh, was tenured at both Harvard and Yale. He was asked when he lectured at Belmont why he had become a Christian. He flashed his brilliant smile and with a spry jump in the air said: “The person of Jesus!”

O come, let us adore Him. Todd Lake Vice President for Spiritual Development

8

F R I DAY, DECEMBER 4  Psalm 20, 21.1–7, 110, 116, 117  Isaiah 4.2–6  Luke 21.5–19  1 Thessalonians 4.13–18 When I was in youth group at a conservative, evangelical church, we were shown films about the “end times” followed by studies of Revelation and passages that talked about what would come in the future, what would follow death. I learned those lessons as well as I could. I found no comfort in these teachings, mostly warnings and a bit of dread.

I have lived quite a few years since then and have sat by bedsides as people were dying, stunned at the mystery of what was happening.

I have sat in funerals where the hope for whatever is next felt more tangible than the current reality. I have participated in memorials where the life of the person gone from us, clearly gone, was remembered with love, longing and gratitude. We want to know, most of the time, what death and what comes after, will be like.

It has been a year of death—the world is the setting for a virus we cannot see. Some people are dying and others are surviving. The number of dead grows each day, stretching our ability to believe the news. The desert fathers and mothers in the ancient Christian traditions teach us to live with our death ever before us. When I was young this sounded morbid to me. Now it is deep wisdom, not only in a pandemic, but in every regular day. If the fragility of human life is tangible and real to us, our days upon the earth are richer, sweeter, more full. And if we are walking with God, compassion blooms in us for all the fragile people around us.

When I was in that youth group studying 1 Thessalonians I would have searched for the information about death and resurrection, looking for the facts, for what I needed to know. Now I read it and I hear first, the pastor’s heart of the writer who can hear the fear behind the questions and the despair in the face of grief. Then I hear the hope, coming from that heart, looking to the death and resurrection of the one born to us at Christmas—the promised one who came to live among us, as a fragile human—the one we await in Advent. Can our waiting for death and our waiting for Jesus co-exist in us? Is there any way we can be human and not have both exist in us?

Judy Skeen Professor of Religion

9

SAT UR DAY, D ECEMBER 5  Psalms 114, 115, 148, 149, 150  Isaiah 5.1–7  Luke 7.28–35  2 Peter 3.11–18 Samuel Becket’s French play, Waiting for Godot, which first opened in Paris in 1953, with its English version premiering in London in 1955, was considered by the British Royal National Theater in 1998 as the “most significant English language play of the 20th century.” As a college student, I saw the play in the early sixties and was totally captivated by its thought-provoking dialogue. Being a Religion major, naturally I interpreted the play against the backdrop of the Christian Faith—and I still do. Now that Advent is upon us, I’ve been thinking about Becket’s play. Some interpreters see Godot as God, even though Becket once said, "If I had meant God, I would have said God, and not Godot." But on another occasion, the playwright remarked that the idea of God being Godot may have been in his subconscious mind. For me, there are inescapable parallels between the unseen Godot and the invisible God of the Judeo-Christian Faith.

There is great expectation, almost desperation, in Waiting for Godot, while there is a calm, almost serene, waiting for God in Judaism and Christianity with the coming of the Messiah. While Godot never ostensibly arrives, God arrives in Christianity in the person of the Christ child. There’s great expectation in both religions. In Judaism the Messiah is not yet recognized as having arrived, but the Messiah is recognized in Christianity as having arrived in the person of Jesus. Herein of course lies the fundamental difference between the two faiths. The operative words in Becket’s work and our faith are “anticipation” and “recognition.” Certainly, anticipation is obvious in both the play and faith.

Recognition, however, is a different matter. Over the years, the more I have pondered it, the more I am convinced that Godot is actually present all along in the play—as the unseen presence in the shadows. Poet James Russell Lowell expressed this idea in his wellknown poem that was later made into a hymn—Once to Every Man and Nation—the final stanza of which says, "And behind the dim unknown, standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above his own." In our faith, in a myriad of ways, we proclaim that God comes at Christmas but do we truly recognize that he comes? For me, I must intentionally seek to recognize him through prayer and meditation in preparation for his coming.

I will close with the words found in 2 Peter 3.11–18, “Finally, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish . . . . To him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity. Amen.”

Ernest Heard Visiting Professor

10

WEEK T WO Hark, the Herald's voice is crying In the desert far and near, Bidding all men to repentance Since the Kingdom now is here.

Oh, that warning cry obey!

Now prepare for God a way; Let the valleys rise to meet Him And the hills bow down to greet Him.

11

SUNDAY, D ECEM BER 6  Psalms 9, 15, 25  Isaiah 5.8–12  Luke 21.20–28  1 Thessalonians 5.1–11 Precisely every four years, mutterings arise all around the nation from newly aspiring expatriates, “If So-and-So is elected, I’m moving to Canada.” I confess I too have considered the logistics of uprooting and moving to the Great White North. When tensions tauten—politically, socially, economically—the impulse is to keep one eye roving for the exit signs. Throughout history, Christians have been prone to pine for Jesus to come . . . and take his followers away. There can be a fine line, however, between longing for escape and longing for freedom: escape always depends upon leaving this place, but freedom can happen here.

Jesus was born thousands of years ago thousands of miles away, yet he came at a time not totally unlike our own. In Jesus’ world, there was no shortage of political, social, economic, and religious tension. In fact, these realities seem as eternal as the Christ himself when the psalmist writes, “The nations have fallen into the pit they have dug; their feet are caught in the net they have hidden” (Ps. 9.15). How familiar does that feel? We are currently participating in a longstanding tradition of tripping over our own vices and devices.

The Good News is “The Lord is known by his acts of justice” (Ps. 9.16).

When Jesus was born into tumult and turmoil, he offered hope for those yearning for freedom. The Christ comes to be present with us in the strife, ultimately to set us free so that we may follow his zealous lead here and now. As much as all of today’s tensions may leave you longing for a “normal” Christmas, know that all of this weirdness is not far off from the very first Advent season two millennia ago. Let us join in that ancient chorus groaning for justice and redemption; together we cry, "Maranatha! Our Lord is coming!"

Cory Bishop Program Assistant, College of Theology and Christian Ministry Belmont Alumnus, B.A. Biblical Studies, 2011 Current Belmont Student, M.A. Mental Health Counseling, 2022

12

M O NDAY, D ECEM BER 7  Psalms 26, 28, 36, 39  Isaiah 5.13–17, 24–25  Luke 21.29–38  1 Thessalonians 5.12–28 In 2013 Rep. John Lewis spoke at the 50th Anniversary of the March on Washington. Imagine you are in the crowd as he spoke: "We truly believed that in every human being, even those who were violent toward us, there was a spark of the divine. And no person had the right to scar or destroy that spark. Martin Luther King Jr. taught us the way of peace, the way of love, the way of nonviolence. He taught us to have the power to forgive, the capacity to be reconciled."

His words could easily have been a sermon on 1 John 4. At once you see that love is a concrete act. It is the act of God’s giving life to the world through Christ. And it is the act of people giv-ing life to each other through shalom justice. Love is, in Lewis’ words, a spark of the divine. It is both a gift from God, and a gift of God’s self.

It’s such a simple reality, you think to yourself: “Whoever does not love does not know God. For God is love. Those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them.” Listening to Lewis, your inner being awakens to the divine spark within you.

But he leads you to think carefully about your own actions as you recall the rest of the passage: “Those who say, ‘I love God’ but hate their brothers and sisters are liars. For those who do not love a brother or sister they have seen, cannot love a God they have not seen.”

John Lewis lived as best he could the truth of the writer’s witness: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.” He and others before him displayed the power of concrete love. They did so in the face of fear of racist reprisals and untold brutalities. And we bear witness to the power of this love even in this year.

Civil Rights leader Ella Baker once said, “Give light and people will find the way.” Perhaps Jesus is born into the world year after year in the Christian calendar because the light of the first nativity is hidden under bushels of prejudice and hate. Fortunately, leaders like Lewis and Baker continue to find the way to call us to that light.

That is good news indeed. Merry Christmas!

Andy Watts Professor of Religion

13

T UESDAY, D ECEM BER 8  Psalms 38, 119.25–48  Isaiah 6.1–13  John 7.53–8.11  2 Thessalonians 1.1–12 In the midst of what has been a crazy year, this season calls us to slow down, back up, and take breath. Each one of today’s readings are examples of the beauty and hardships of conversation and relationship with God. The passage in Psalm shows us what a cry of prayer and worship can look like in the midst of hardship. We see both cries for help and declarations of hope and faith in the way that the author seeks the presence of God. I will not speak for you, but I know that this year has been quite draining for me. Like any year there were moments of beauty and joy, but as this year comes to a close, I feel as though I just ran a marathon. I have a feeling that many of you likely feel the same way. From wildfires and COVID-19 to much needed protests and a presidential election, this has been one eventful year.

With all this in mind, let us take this moment to slow down, back up, and take breath. Let us lean into the presence of God and join the author of the Psalm in expressing our laments and sorrows along with celebrating the places we have seen Gods presence and crying out in hope for the seasons to come. Let us give thanks to the Lord for the miracle of Jesus’ birth and the selfless life he lived as a guide unto us.

Let us thank God for the grace and forgiveness that is shown to us like that which was shown to the woman in our John reading today and let us ask God to teach us how to hold that same grace and forgiveness for ourselves and for others.

Have a blessed day my friends, and let your eyes be set on both the beauty and the lament that we are experiencing in this wonderful season.

Paige Huggins Senior, Religious Studies and Psychology

14

W E D NESDAY, D ECEMBER 9  Psalms 31, 35  Isaiah 7.10–25  Luke 22.14–30  2 Thessalonians 2.13–3.5 Our hymn for this Advent season, “Comfort, Comfort Ye My People,” has a wonderful line at the end of the second stanza: “Let the valleys rise to meet him, And the hills bow down to greet him.”

It is a line that imagines valleys rising up to meet the living God coming into their presence and the hills themselves bowing in God’s presence. This image is not uncommon in Scripture where we find many affirmations from God’s people of God coming into their midst, of God’s presence with them. We see that in particular among the scriptures for our reading today.

A psalmist cries out to God while in distress: But I trust in you, O LORD; I say, “You are my God.” My times are in your hand; deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors (Psalm 31.14–15).

Isaiah recounts the promises of God that God will be among God’s people (Is. 7.14). Luke sets the communion table for us and invites us to sit at the feet of Jesus (Luke 22.14–30). 2 Thessalonians encourages us to remember that our Lord Jesus Christ who loves us and gives us good hope will “comfort your hearts and strengthen them in every good work and word” (2.16–17).

These are good words for our days. None of us need to feel any more alone than we have felt in recent months. Perhaps our minds may turn to the well-known Psalm 23 which gives us the imagery of the “valley of death,” and reminds the readers that God is with them even in the darkest days. Even in that valley, God prepares a table for us (Ps. 23.5).

Here in these Advent days while we make our way toward Christmas and the celebration of God coming among us in flesh, let us remember that the valleys rise up, the hills bow down, and God sets a table among us. Yes, indeed, God will comfort our hearts in every good work and word.

Darrell Gwaltney Dean, College of Theology and Christian Ministry

15

T H U R SDAY, D ECEM BER 10  Psalms 32, 42, 43  Isaiah 8.1–15  Luke 22.31–38  2 Thessalonians 3.6–18 Advent is the coming of Jesus’ dwelling here on earth. It brings us the good news that Jesus came, lived the perfect life, died for our sins on the cross, and rose from the dead three days later to give us a new life.

I think many times within the good news of this, we forget that there is first bad news. There is bad news that the world we live in is not so great.

Currently we are hyper aware of this. With a pandemic still happening, the cry for justice, and the small griefs of a loss of normalcy, there are lots of things pointing towards the bad news. In times like these we can fall into extremes; a deep grief of what our world has become or a positive narrative that ignores heartache.

What if we rested in the reality that Christ is both here and also to come? How differently would our lives look?

We see this mirrored in Psalm 42 and 43. It is an honest passage of coming with the weight of hopelessness and a deep sadness and choosing to believe that God is active in that. Psalm 42 says God is “sending his faithful love by day, and by night his song is with me.” Not only is he doing this now, but he is also the one who makes all things right. He is the one, who the Psalmist says, our soul’s thirst for. This passage doesn’t deny the reality and it doesn’t deny who God is. It honors both and holds both in tension.

As we are experiencing this Advent season I want to challenge us to remember the hope that we have now. That God is present and working in our lives right now. That the Kingdom of God is at hand.

And, to look forward to our future hope. The kingdom of God is also to come. That God will make all things right.

Maria Fussell Senior, Christian Leadership

16

F R I DAY, DECEMBER 11  Psalms 63.1–8, 98, 103  Isaiah 13.6–13  John 3.22–30  Hebrews 12.18–29 The appalling language of revolting violence that appears in the Book of Isaiah does not immediately recommend itself as inspirational Advent reading. It describes not hope, but fear; not peace, but war; not love, but anguish; not joy, but terror. In this prophecy against Babylon, an army of the Lord utterly desolates the land, eradicating every last sinner within it. Swords are thrust through captives and horrors are visited upon women and infants. The trembling heavens go dark: neither the sun nor the moon, not even a single star, illuminates violence so profound that it shakes the earth.

Strange reading indeed for a season known for evergreen wreaths with colorful candles to brighten winter nights. Yet a twenty-first-century believer’s reaction, prompted by her preferences to read good news throughout the Scripture, misses the point of this literature by being, well, too literal. Within his ancient context, Isaiah’s writing aligns with contemporary conquest narratives that rely on literary conventions of exaggeration for effect. Original readers saw these passages as indicating God’s awful—and truly awesome—might in language reserved for victorious kings. Further, God dispatched Babylon with a righteous wrath. According to expectations and conventions of the time, this was proper payback for Babylon’s own crimes against other nations. In fact, God’s actions were actually more than righteous: the suffering that God imposes was not full compensation since it was nowhere near as wantonly cruel as the crimes suffered by Babylon’s victims. Fully embracing this interpretive context, we could even see God’s just judgement as more merciful than it needed to be.

Although cultural contextualism still may leave us longing in our search for an Advent message, Isaiah’s description of the destruction of an ancient empire ultimately does not disappoint. God’s just retribution is bestowed without malice but in the spirit of correction to a misguided world. Removing Babylon, absolutely and completely, paves the way for another city, the New Jerusalem. God’s justness inspires our confidence in God’s promises, which are given the hopeful shape of a Messiah figure later in the book. God’s judgement shows, ultimately, the love and hope for humanity’s future which is provided in the person of Jesus. A righteous act—albeit with devasting characteristics and terrifying scale—will bring forth the coming righteousness of the Savior of Grace. From a night of pure and utter darkness will emerge the Light of the World.

Jhennifer A. Amundson Dean of the College of Architecture & Design

SAT UR DAY, D ECEMBER 12  Psalms 41, 44, 52  Isaiah 8.16–9.1  Luke 22.39–53  2 Peter 1.1–11 Psalm 41, attributed to David, seems to have been written when the psalmist was suffering from illness—a bit on-the-nose for us these days! His tone, crying out to God in the same kind of tone I used as a child to call out for my mom when I wasn’t feeling well, evokes great pity and makes this psalm incredibly relatable.

The psalm also reflects feelings of fear and suspicion that can sometimes accompany a period of suffering. When we’re turned inward toward our own anguish, it is easy to feel like others are out to get us. The world shrinks until it is only the size of our experience of pain, and it’s natural to look for a scapegoat for our suffering. The writer of Psalm 41 expresses some of this illness-induced paranoia, saying, “My enemies wonder in malice when I will die, and my name perish. [A]ll who hate me whisper together about me; they imagine the worst for me” (41.5, 7). Looking for someone to blame for our suffering is a familiar pattern. To resist it requires conscious effort on our part.

We are all suffering so much these days, individually as well as collectively. We are in a sustained period of collective crisis—crisis layered on top of crisis, grief on top of grief. The grief is, of course, not equally distributed, but we all feel it, are all touched by it in some way. Advent is always a longing for a better, more hopeful day, and it seems like we have been in that period of longing all year.

It is easy to turn inward, to curl up into ourselves and imagine our pain is the only pain, and that we’re alone in it. Let’s not do that. Let’s allow the fact that things are not as they should be to turn us outward—to live with Advent-flavored hope that a better day is coming, and that by carrying each other’s burdens we have a better chance of facing the rest of this period of suffering until it does. Let us allow suffering to make us tender, to make us more sensitive to the suffering of others, and to attune us to the ways we can be in solidarity with each other.

Beth Ritter-Conn Lecturer

18

SUNDAY, D ECEM BER 13  Psalms 45, 47, 48  Isaiah 9.1–7  Luke 22.54–69  2 Peter 1.12–21 Peter had three opportunities before the rooster crowed to not deny the Lord (Luke 22.34). However, Jesus already knew that Peter was to deny him each of those times. Peter did just that saying, “Woman I don’t know him” (v. 57), “Man I am not” (v. 58), “Man I don’t know what you’re talking about” (v. 60). For the last year or so we have been given a different set of opportunities after opportunity to follow Jesus the same way that Jesus told Peter to “Follow me” (5.10). Yet, I too like Peter failed. I regret to say that I failed more than the three times that Peter failed. As the world closed and we were forced to stay home Jesus invited us to follow him from home: spending time in his word, loving people well, reaching out to create community in new and intuitive ways, clearing out our mental inventories and so much more. Many of us didn’t do all of the things God asked us to do.

In essence, we did not “follow him.” Like Peter who denied being a follower of Christ three times, many of us actually did the same.

Advent season gives us the opportunity to celebrate the first coming and the future coming of Jesus Christ. More than any other year, I have had the chance to await the coming of Christ in different ways.

Yet, I have realized and found rest in the fact that even though Peter denied Jesus three times (the way Jesus said he would), Jesus still goes on to ask Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me greater than these?” (John 15) Even though we may not have followed Jesus the way we should have during these months, Jesus still asks us do we love him more than these.

I challenge you to take this time to reflect on the ways you might have denied Jesus during this past year and write them down. Then, take time to reflect on the ways that even though you denied Jesus he comes back and asks you “Do you love me greater than these?” and write them down as well. Find hope in these opportunities to love Jesus.

Have a great Advent Season!

Damarius Drumwright Senior, Worship Leadership

19

WEEK TH REE Make ye straight what long was crooked, Make the rougher places plain; Let your hearts be true and humble, As befits His holy reign.

For the glory of the Lord Now o'er earth is shed abroad, And all flesh shall see the token That His Word is never broken.

21

M O NDAY, D ECEM BER 14  Psalms 49, 119.49–72  Isaiah 9.8–17  Mark 1.1–8  2 Peter 2.1–10a One of the challenges of reading a text that our religious tradition has borrowed from another is that it has been part of an ongoing internal conversation that we first approach as outsiders. A clumsy or ill-informed entry into that conversation may result in the vilification of the group from which the text is borrowed. Isaiah 9.17 is a text ripe for such abuse. Torn from the long literary work called Isaiah, these verses sound like an unopposed word of condemnation against Israel.

Placed against the backdrop of Advent it can add fuel to the fires of anti-Semitism that have burned throughout the history of Christianity.

But the book of Isaiah, along with the other prophetic scrolls in the Bible, was in a long process of renegotiating these ancient ideas in a world where there was too much pain, suffering, and loss for easy equations of sin and punishment to operate.

Comparing degrees of suffering and trauma distorts and belittles such experiences, but the last year has certainly been a time when many people have encountered these in ways they have not before.

Old ways of thinking that lay blame and measure fault are inadequate, and the world is desperate for a word that will bring us together in support and solidarity with those who hurt the most. Isaiah 9.17 is a hard verse to hear: That is why the LORD did not have pity on their young people, or compassion on their orphans and widows; for everyone was godless and an evildoer, And every mouth spoke folly.

It is fine for us to disagree with a statement like this because the book of Isaiah presents opposing statements. The New Testament also present multiple perspectives on this kind of question. Nevertheless, it is necessary to remember that this idea and other thoughts that go with it are never far away from any of us. It is the simplest of explanations for disaster and loss. It must be part of the conversation, even if its purpose is to prod more generous and compassionate thoughts.

Mark McEntire Professor of Biblical Studies

22

T UESDAY, D ECEM BER 15  Psalms 33, 50  Isaiah 9.18–10.4  Matthew 3.1–12  2 Peter 2.10b–16 To many, Jesus enters the world through his birth during advent and enters our lives bringing salvation through his death on the cross.

The period between these two events must not be overlooked, as the actual life of Jesus proves to be one of the best methods of knowing righteousness.

In these times, we face a threat that neglects not a single soul. Hardship is felt in different volumes but felt nonetheless. A common sentiment of desperation gives way to false teachers to have a platform (2 Peter 2.10b–16). They prey on our vulnerable state and further the oppression already felt by so many, simply because we are willing to hold on to their lies lest we hold nothing and slip away. The birth of Jesus was the most vulnerable act of God, and his life on earth was undeniably politically charged.

In saying this, I call not to bipartisan arguments that we currently face, but instead to the model of disruption that Jesus presented. When faced with greed, discrimination, and oppression, Jesus dismantled the most suffocating of those institutions, frequently religious, that brought hardship upon his people. These suffocating forces still exist in abundance today, many disguised under proclamations of right intentions.

As adolescents we are taught to associate advent with giving, in maturity might we associate this season with reparations? In this different form of giving lies the opportunity to make right the misdeeds done by those who came before us and to which we were brought up blind.

Education and conversation are two of the most powerful tools at our disposal, so why shouldn’t we use them to their fullest extent?

Like Christ, we can transition from vulnerability and dependence into strength and open-mindedness. Through a common search for better understanding of one another, a society gains the ability to bring restorative justice to the needy, provide and protect the rights of even the poorest of its people, and become self-aware of the damage its institutions have caused and rewrite their story for the future (Is. 9.18–10.4).

In this season of Advent, I ask that we hold the tension between reparation and hope creatively, and look forward to the day when we can make right our relationship with our neighbor, and truly invite Jesus into our lives by living as he did.

Naomi Chetelat Senior, Faith and Social Justice

23

W E D NESDAY, D ECEMBER 1 6  Psalms 40, 51, 54  Isaiah 10.5–19  Matthew 11.2–15  2 Peter 2.17–22 Faith and doubt are long-discussed companions that accompany those on a religious journey.

Sometimes I think doubt is a privilege. For instance, when I was in graduate school, the classroom was a place of openness and conversation. Questions could be asked and not answered. Doubt was welcome and even expected.

Sometimes though, doubt has nothing to do with privilege. It has more to do with the hard work that occurs with the experience of suffering.

The biblical narrative itself is full of stories about those who doubt.

King Saul was so perplexed by the absence of God that he asked the witch at Endor to bring Samuel up from Sheol to provide him with advice. Thomas the disciple doubted that Jesus had been resurrected.

Abraham and Sarah doubted their ability to have a child, and God’s capacity to fulfill covenant. Peter faltered while walking on water, even when in the presence of Jesus. In Judges, Barak doubts the God of Israel has spoken through Deborah the prophetess. And even Jesus on the cross doubts God’s steadfastness and cries out in agony regarding his sense of forsakenness.

In the Gospel of Matthew, we come upon John the Baptist in prison sending word to Jesus inquiring about whether or not he is the Messiah. We find him in need of reassurance. Jesus responds, offering that reassurance by recounting the miracles that have occurred, and then, he praises John the Baptist to those who are listening, declaring that no person born of a woman who has arisen is greater than John.

John the Baptist’s doubt may seem surprising. Earlier in the Gospel when Jesus is to be baptized, John proclaims that it is he who needs baptism from Jesus. Doubt is not a factor in this scene. But when we find John suffering in prison, near the end, those doubts emerge.

They aren’t met with criticism or rejection. They are answered with reassuring words and praise for his work.

This means we are in good company when questions arise that nag us and when doubt pokes at us in times of privilege or devastates us as we suffer. We’ve all had these moments, and Advent provides the reassuring words and the praise we seek. Reassurance comes in Incarnation, and the incomprehensible grace we are offered in this act provides affirmation of our very existence. And faith remains.

Sally Holt Professor of Religion

24

T H U R SDAY, D ECEM BER 17  Psalms 55, 138, 139.1–17  Isaiah 10.20–27  Luke 3.1–9  Jude 17–25 One of the texts given to us on this particular day is Luke 3.1–9. I am a born and raised Kentucky boy and I was raised by a family obsessed with camping. My grandfather, a man whom I have looked up to during his life and in his death, used to roam throughout the woods like a man trying to find an answer or two. I like to think I know that feeling when I look out over my backyard, filled with trees, bushes of goldenrod, and honeysuckle. I have often sat and watched and waited and listened to the sounds of these pockets of wilderness for long periods of time, but I have never worked up the courage to let the woods take me into itself. I say all of this to you in light of Luke 3.1–9 because of that ever-elusive and interesting line, “the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.” Here, we have a peculiar image of coming, communion, and discovery. Wilderness as a symbol within the biblical text seems tired, so perhaps it’s better if we let ourselves rest in that wilderness, letting the word of God come to us.

St. Ignatius of Loyola was the pioneer of a well-known spiritual discipline called Sacred Imagination. This practice calls the participant to fully immerse themselves in a biblical story by placing themselves in the mind, shoes, and tunic of a specific character. There is no doubt in my mind that this discipline has been applied to Jesus Christ on multiple occasions. It’s incredibly helpful during this time that we call “Advent” to consider the sensory experience of this moment of advent in John’s life. There’s a great deal of mystery here that it would be silly to fill it with my own assumptions. Nevertheless, I think it is valuable to sit with this image and to place ourselves inside of it.

What does the air smell like in that pocket of wilderness?

Can you feel the sand underneath your feet?

Can you feel the mountains making you smaller?

Can, perhaps, you feel yourself sinking into this particular valley?

What does the word of God feel like, taste like, smell like as it comes to rest in front of you?

Is the word of God a whisper? Is it the sound of your mother? Is it your own voice ricocheting off of the rocks?

Let yourself here the words of Love’s coming, dwelling, dying, and living, today.

Matty Jordan Senior, Religion and the Arts

25

F R I DAY, DECEMBER 18  Psalms 63.1–8, 98, 103  Isaiah 13.6–13  John 3.22–30  Hebrews 12.18–29 Advent occurs at a time of the year when many of us find family reunions during the holidays, images of pending gifts, and the harmonious sounds of carolers fill the hearts and minds of both young and old with an overwhelming sense of joy. Yet, in 2020, many things threaten our joy. Many of us have endured lengthy periods of sequestration in our homes and have lived with limited occasions for fellowship and social contact. We find ourselves in a world filled with conflict as we wrestle with profound issues of social unrest that engulf many of our communities. We live in one of the most contentious political periods in history. There is no doubt that, regardless of the election outcome, a significant portion of the country is disappointed. All of these things weigh heavily on us and understandably dampen the mood of the moment. The writer of this psalm understands how we feel and reminds believers how to navigate this moment without losing confidence in God. Despite what is occurring around the psalmists, and around us, there is still a reason to offer God our thanks.

The psalmist praises the Lord with all that is within him. He takes time to carefully consider what God has already done for him. He embodies the thoughts of an African American hymn, which says, “When I look back over my life and think things over, I can truly say that I have been blessed, I have a testimony.” When we take the time to consider the experiences we have had with God, it provides us with confidence in the God we worship.

Even if we consider God’s past performance, how can we have confidence, God will meet the challenges in this moment and retain our joy? Advent reminds us that not only has God’s son already come, but he has also made a future promise to us. We celebrate the victory Jesus has already won, victory and or confidence in Jesus future triumph. Just as Jesus’ past victory provides confidence and joy, Jesus’ promise to return reminds us that the trouble of this moment will not have the final word.

The anticipation Jesus’ return provides a retrospective and prospective power to praise and worship God and retain our joy!

David Latimore Belmont Fellow

26

SAT UR DAY, D ECEMBER 19  Psalms 61, 62, 112, 115  Isaiah 11.1–9  John 5.30–47  Revelation 20.1–10 When we were little, my sister and I could not wait for Christmas.

We searched out our presents long before Christmas morning and learned to unwrap and rewrap our gifts, so I knew exactly what to expect under the tree in 1985. But I did not expect our lives to be completely changed that holiday season.

On December 22, 1985 my sister was abducted with her best friend.

Our family spent eight days praying they were alive. Just before the New Year their abductor let them go, and they ran home. I was at my grandparents’ house that day and came home to see a pile of halfopen presents—Jessica had been taken to the hospital before she finished opening her gifts. Even though I knew, and I knew she knew, what was in those boxes, the sight of them sitting there still waiting to be opened made me sad.

And I was sad for a long time. The holiday season was tough for many years, and I experienced intense guilt. I often wondered why my lot in life seemed so much easier than my sister’s. My heart cried out for a Savior.

I recognized an absolute need for Jesus in my life, for His unfailing love and forgiveness, for His guidance and protection. Because of Jesus, I have Hope, and it is the thing that makes my lot different.

There is no greater gift than the one God has given us in his Son. In this season of Advent, we wait for our Savior. We celebrate His birth.

We acknowledge His sovereignty. We meditate on His death and resurrection and on His promises.

Jesus said, “I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart.

And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid. Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again” (John 14.27–28).

Let us not leave God’s gift half-opened. Let us pray together, encourage one another to fully embrace what our Savior has promised us. Let us delve into the Word to better comprehend the great mystery foretold in prophecies and fulfilled in Jesus. And let us be thankful, praising the Giver of Light and Life with joyful hearts.

“Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him” (Psalm 62.5).

Suzanne Clement Executive Assistant, Office of Institutional Effectiveness

27

SUNDAY, D ECEM BER 20  Psalms 66, 67, 116, 117  Isaiah 11.10–16  Luke 1.5–25  Revelation 20.11–21.8 October 3, 2016, was the 23rd anniversary of the Battle of Mogadishu, remembered by most of us through the book and movie Black Hawk Down. When I awoke that morning, I had no recollection of that anniversary. But I ended up spending that morning talking with one of the survivors of that battle, one of the Army Rangers who slid down a rope from a Black Hawk helicopter into the streets of Mogadishu that afternoon 23 years earlier and into eighteen perilous hours. Eighteen perilous hours during which nineteen of his buddies lost their lives.

He told me, “It was only eighteen hours. But those eighteen hours have shaped every minute of my life since then.” One of the things he remembered was that they never lost hope that someone was coming for them, that they were neither alone nor forgotten.

Isaiah lived in perilous times as well. Judah was a tiny ant to be crushed under the iron feet of the empires sweeping across the Middle East.

St. Luke lived in perilous times. The Roman Empire was snuffing out little Judea and sending her people scattered with the winds. John the Seer lived in perilous times. The early church was under persecution, Christians being burned alive to light the streets of Rome. And yet their messages of hope are clear. We are not alone in these days of peril. The Mighty One of Israel has neither forgotten nor forsaken us.

We live in perilous times as well. A pandemic continues to rage around our globe leaving death, suffering and despair in its wake. None of us has been untouched. Cries for justice ring in our streets as people are senselessly gunned down. Our country is battered by raging wildfires on one side and relentless hurricanes on the other. Out of nowhere and for no decent reason bullets begin to fly and innocent people are slain. We live in perilous times. It feels at times as thought a dark cloud has engulfed us. And it is all too tempting to lean into cynicism and despair.

But people of faith have been here before. As a people we are not strangers to perilous times. And it is during Advent that we are reminded of the importance of our hope. When times are dark and our whole world seems to be falling down around us, we lean with hope on the promise that we are neither forgotten nor forsaken.

As the Psalmist says, Come and see what God has done: he is awesome in his deeds among mortals.

He turned the sea into dry land; they passed through the river on foot.

There we rejoiced in him, who rules by his might forever, whose eyes keep watch on the nations—let the rebellious not exalt themselves (Psalm 66.5–7).

Tom Bagwell Associate Director, Mental Health Counseling Program

28

WEEK FOUR Comfort, comfort, ye My people, Speak ye peace, thus saith our God; Comfort those who sit in darkness, Mourning 'neath their sorrows' load.

Speak ye to Jerusalem Of the peace that waits for them; Tell her that her sins I cover And her warfare now is over.

29

M O NDAY, D ECEM BER 21  Psalms 72, 111, 113  Isaiah 28.9–22  Luke 1.26–38  Revelation 21.9–21 The Isaiah reading for today starts with Isaiah quoting his opponents, who cruelly mock his prophecies as nonsense, gibberish, and stammering and stuttering (v. 9–10). Isaiah responds with what the Lord has to say to cruel, mocking rulers who “have made lies [their] refuge, and in falsehood [they] have taken shelter” (v. 14–15). God counters this rhetoric of deceit with a different type of leadership. God’s vision for the people is built on a cornerstone and a foundation of truth, justice, and righteousness, in order to “sweep away the refuge of lies” through which Jerusalem’s elites have consolidated their power (v.

16–17). These are, perhaps, harsh words for the traditional warm, cozy Advent season, but they are true and necessary words that ring true now as much as then.

Lies are often loud and brazen, and liars try to convince us and themselves that they are true, powerful, and inevitable. Lies are cynical and tell us that a single voice speaking truth and justice is wrong, and that even if it’s right, it won’t make any difference against the house of lies that the powerful have built. But God tells us differently: that truth and justice are the cornerstones for God’s people to foster abundant life for all; that speaking the truth matters; and that taking one small action for greater justice matters.

Truth often comes in quiet places, from people whose voices aren’t supposed to matter by worldly standards, as Luke’s birth narratives quietly but eloquently remind us. The God of truth and justice came into a quiet place, to a girl in a small town. Mary in Luke speaks truth as a pregnant teenager. Elizabeth prophesies truth as an old woman.

The undignified shepherds speak truth about a baby lying in a manger.

And all who heard these things were amazed, the evangelist writes.

But who actually listens to the voices of old women, pregnant teens, and poor farm workers?

As we wait this Advent, I pray that we will be the ones who listen— most especially, that we will listen closely to the quiet, forgotten voices that the world deems to be unimportant, shameful, or even dangerous. To the pregnant teenager who has a vision and a song for a new way of being in community together. To the old woman offering her wisdom in unprecedented times. To the Black and Brown voices that are too often ignored and silenced in our country. To the voices speaking justice and righteousness and truth in the quiet places.

To the almighty God who chose to reveal the divine Self to us as a working-class, brown-skinned child. Wait, listen, and then act.

Amanda C. Miller Associate Professor of Biblical Studies

30

T UESDAY, D ECEM BER 22  Psalms 80, 146, 147  Isaiah 29.13–24  Luke 1.39–48a, (45b–56)  Revelation 21.22–22.5 Take a moment and think back on your earliest memories of the Advent season. What do you see? What do you smell? What do you hear?

Most hold certain predispositions when it comes to this season: the bustle of the holidays often depersonalizes the experience of Jesus and the story of compassion, hope, and justice that comes with him.

We are often so caught up in the commodified message of Christmas that tells us of a gift that was given to us with no strings, we can often miss what that gift brings with it as follow up. We forget to stop, and ponder the wonder of "the coming."

The Advent fills us with joy (Luke 1.39–45) as we exist in the hope that comes from the power of Jesus' coming. It also fills us with a compassion that leads us to action for those who are oppressed by the systems in place that stand against them.

In Luke 1.45–48 Mary praises the Lord for blessing her for her faith and hope; her action in faith was to trust God, that God would fulfill what God set out to do. We have a similar responsibility to take action in the face of faith. As we continue this season of meditation on the significance of the arrival of the kingdom of God, I beckon you to ponder what systems stand as hollow voices speaking falsehoods about the righteous God of Jesus. In this extremely tense time, we are bombarded and overloaded with so many choices, telling us what to think and believe. Be keen to notice the subtlety of fake words (Isaiah 29.13–16) of those who manipulate the gift of Christ's arrival to keep systems of oppression in place.

The gift of Jesus is that he gave us hope, and an example of faith that leads us to seek justice and celebrate liberation into a new life of freedom. I leave you with these words from the great mystic Thomas Merton, "Nothing created is of any ultimate use without hope. To place your trust in visible things is to live in despair" (No Man is an Island). Let hope guide you into the righteousness of the God of justice: use the gift of the Advent as a chance to place your trust in the invite God of the cosmos. Peace be with you.

Caleb Pagan Senior, Worship Leadership

31

W E D NESDAY, D ECEMBER 2 3  Psalms 93, 96, 148, 150  Isaiah 33.17–22  Luke 1.57–66  Revelation 22.6–11, 18–20 If there’s one thing that 2020 has taught me, it’s that we should’ve skipped it. Surely, it would’ve been fine to just go from 2019 to 2021.

How hard could it have been to get the folks who run the Times Square Countdown to change the number on the sign. Recognizing the train wreck that is this year, maybe we should collectively give up on the Gregorian calendar altogether, give the Jewish calendar or the Chinese calendar a try. Maybe this year would be different in the US if it were 5781 or 4718. Maybe we’d feel wiser and more adept at dealing with life and politics if our calendar itself reminded us that we have two or three thousand additional years of history under our collective belt.

A pandemic. A reckoning with our culture’s racism. A presidential election in a divided nation. The fabric of our civic life is torn. And we’re tired. Most of us are really tired. I ran around the house this morning like a chicken without a head, looking for the pair of socks I’d just brought downstairs. I finally found them in the trash can, when I went to throw away a paper towel. There they lay, next to coffee grounds, one of my favorite pairs of socks, with sad coffee-tinged polka dots.

And yet, somehow, even in this palaver of a year, in the midst of sickness and dying, even in the midst of the frantic mornings and discarded socks, God is moving; God is here. We people of faith feel that—and on some days, we rest in that as well.

The story we read in Scripture today, of the birth of John the Baptist, reminds us that quietly and in God’s loving timing, God makes a way.

Though the nations rage, though people are divided, in this long arc of history, God breaks through and gives us new life. The Ancient of Days is at work. God’s works are old, and God’s works are new.

As we move toward Christmas, let us open our hearts to the new works of God being born in our lives. Just as John the Baptist himself made the way open for Jesus, so too now, in our hearts, God’s works are being born. In the midst of these days, let us keep vigilance with faith, hope, and love. Amen.

Donovan McAbee Associate Professor of Religion and the Arts

32

T H U R SDAY, D ECEM BER 24  Psalms 45, 46, 89.1–29  Isaiah 35.1–10  Luke 1.67–80  Revelation 22.12–17 I find it a little strange that one of the most celebratory seasons in our culture coincides with the time of year where each day gets shorter and each night are longer. We wake up in the dark, we leave work in the dark, but still we are supposed to find hope and celebration appropriate for the season. As opposite as these things may seem, perhaps the juxtaposition is entirely appropriate for the season of Advent. It is a season that signals to us that while we have hope for the celebration and festival which is to come, we are still a people who wait for the light that has yet to fully arrive.

This posture of waiting was a familiar one for the Israelite people who found themselves waiting for rescue, redemption, and deliverance from a God who had promised them just that. Today’s reading from Isaiah 35 was written to the Israelite people in the midst of their exile in Babylon. Things did not look good for them. They did not know when or if rescue would ever come. The days were short and the nights were long. But these words from the prophet Isaiah reminded them that what they were experiencing was not how things would be forever—one day the wilderness would bloom, their suffering would come to an end, and God would save them.

It has not been an easy year. The losses and hardships are too many to name. But today, I give thanks for this season that reminds me that my waiting is not in vain. I know that the celebration is coming—there are signs all around me. I know the days will begin to get longer—it happens every year. I also recognize that knowing these things does not make today any easier. I recognize that it may seem like an empty promise to people who are experiencing pain, exile, and injustice RIGHT NOW. But, I am grateful for these words of Isaiah that can sustain me in the midst of the waiting: “Those the Lord has rescued will return.

They will enter Zion with singing; Everlasting joy will crown their heads.

Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away” (Isaiah 35.10).

Heather Gerbsch Daugherty University Minister

33

F R I DAY, DECEMBER 25  Psalms 2, 85, 110.1-5, 132  Zechariah 2.10-13  John 3.31-36  1 John 4.7-16 During my very first fall semester at Belmont in 2004 I was able to start a new ministry to the university community in this Advent Guide. Each year, now for seventeen years, I have enlisted faculty, staff, alumni, pastors, trustees, and students to write. In all, there have been eightyseven students who have contributed to these Advent Guides over the years.

There have been dozens of colleagues, too, faculty and staff, some who remain at Belmont and others who have moved on to other things.

Each fall, I review the names of everyone who has written over the years and remember them and their many contributions to Belmont and the work of the Church.

I read all the devotions, of course, as I edit them and prepare them for publication. Many ask us to think difficult things or wrestle with hard truths. Some vulnerably admit their own failures. Others remind us God walks ahead of us on the horizon of our lives. In the reading of them I am encouraged and lifted up, challenged and humbled, and sometimes brought to tears by the openness of all who share in these pages.

A common thread resonating through the devotions each year particularly ministers to me in this year of shadows covering us, an interwoven thread of the hope and love of the people of God. Time and time again, I read how people point to the work of God for us, the redemption of the Son of God among us, and the healing presence of the Holy Spirit in us.

This year, I really needed to read the words of these brothers and sisters in Christ. This year, among all years, I am reminded on this day, Christmas, that the one who came to be among us never leaves us and creates in us a community with which we can gather in times of need.

This year, I am reminded that the Light of the World always pushes back against the shadows and what makes us who we are is the love we share in and for each other in Jesus Christ (1 John 4.7). Merry Christmas everyone! Thank you for this community of believers!

Darrell Gwaltney Dean, College of Theology and Christian Ministry

34

COLLEGE O F TH EOLOGY & CHR IST IAN M IN ISTRY Vision The College of Theology & Christian Ministry seeks to be a premier academic community that nurtures a living faith in God, reflects critically on its discipline, develops skills for Christian ministry and distinguishes itself through its emphases on contemplative spirituality and social justice.

Purpose The purpose of the College of Theology & Christian Ministry is to provide student-centered, academically challenging religion classes to the diverse student body of Belmont University and to provide a foundation of religious studies for students preparing for congregational ministry and advanced theological studies.

Goals 1. T o provide all Belmont students with a solid foundation in biblical and theological studies.

2. T o teach courses for religion majors and minors in the following areas: biblical languages, biblical studies, religion and society, theological and historical studies, practical studies, seminars and special studies. To offer professional education courses in practical ministry.

3. To offer continuing education opportunities to ministers and laity.

4. T o integrate contemplative spirituality and social justice into the curricular and co-curricular program.

Belmont at a Glance

Belmont University is a student-centered Christian community providing an academically challenging education that empowers men and women of diverse backgrounds to engage and transform the world with disciplined intelligence, compassion, courage and faith.

Belmont University—home of the October 22, 2020 Presidential Debate, the third and final in the election season—is made up of more than 8,200 students who come from every state and 28 countries. Nationally ranked and consistently recognized by U.S. News & World Report for its innovation and commitment to teaching, Belmont brings together the best of liberal arts and professional education in a Christian community of learning and service. The University’s purpose is to help students explore their passions and develop their talents to meet the world’s needs. With more than 100 areas of undergraduate study, 27 master’s programs and five doctoral degrees, there is no limit to the ways Belmont University can expand an individual's horizon. For more information, visit belmont.edu.

Accreditation

Belmont University is accredited by the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools Commission on Colleges to award baccalaureate, master's, and doctoral degrees. Contact the Southern Association of Colleges and Schools Commission on Colleges at 1866 Southern Lane, Decatur, Georgia 30033-4097, or call 404.679.4500 for questions about the accreditation of Belmont University.

35

COLLEGE O F THEOLOGY & CHR IST IAN MIN ISTRY Faculty and Staff Dr. Darrell Gwaltney, Dean Ms. Tola Akhom-Pokrywka, Assistant to the Dean & Budget Manager Mr. Cory Bishop, Program Assistant Dr. Marty Bell, Church History Dr. Robert Byrd, Greek & New Testament (Emeritus) Dr. Ann Coble, Lecturer Dr. Manuel Cruz, Theology Dr. Ben Curtis, Pastoral Care & Spiritual Formation (Emeritus) Dr. Cynthia Curtis, Practical Theology & Spiritual Formation Dr. David Dark, Religion and the Arts Dr. Steve Guthrie, Theology & Religion and the Arts Dr. Ernest Heard, Visiting Professor Dr. Janet Hicks, Mental Health Counseling Dr. Sally Holt, Christian Ethics Dr. Tom Knowles-Bagwell, Mental Health Counseling Dr. David Latimore, Fellow Dr. Mary Mayorga, Mental Health Counseling Dr. Layla Bonner, Mental Health Counseling Dr. Donovan McAbee, Religion and the Arts Dr. Mark McEntire, Hebrew & Old Testament Dr. Amanda Miller, Greek & New Testament Dr. Gideon Park, Biblical Studies Dr. Beth Ritter-Conn, Lecturer Dr. Steven Simpler, Theology (Emeritus) Dr. Judy Skeen, Biblical Studies & Spiritual Formation Dr. Andy Watts, Christian Ethics

36

1900 Belmont Boulevard Nashville, TN 37212 BELMONT.EDU

Belmont University is a Christian community. The University faculty, administration, and staff uphold Jesus as the Christ and as the measure for all things. As a community seeking to uphold Christian standards of morality, ethics, and conduct, Belmont University holds high expectations of each person who chooses to join the community. In compliance with federal law, including provisions of Title IX of the Education Amendments of 1972, Title VII of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, Sections 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973, Belmont University does not discriminate on the basis of race, sex, color, national or ethnic origin, age, disability, military service, or sexual orientation in its administration of education policies programs or activities; its admissions policies; or employment. Consistent with applicable civil rights law, the University seeks employees of Christian faith who are committed to the mission of the University. The University has appointed the director of the Office of Human Resources to serve as coordinator of compliance with Title VII and IX issues and questions for staff and faculty. The Director of Title IX Compliance and Prevention Programs serves as coordinator of compliance for Title IX issues and questions for students. Inquiries or complaints should be directed to: Lauri Chaudoin, Director, Title IX Compliance and Prevention Programs, Freeman Hall, 3rd Floor, 1900 Belmont Boulevard, Nashville, TN 37212. Phone: 615.460.5661.

Email: lauri.chaudoin@belmont.edu. Leslie Lenser, Chief Human Resources Officer/Sr. Director & Deputy Title IX Coordinator, Office of Human Resources, Fidelity Hall, Room 426, 1900 Belmont Boulevard, Nashville, TN 37212. Phone: 615.460.6456. Email: leslie.lenser@belmont.edu.

CTCM-203303