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November 28 - December 24, 2021

(December 5), Joy (December 12), and Love (December 19). They are accompanied by “Questions for Reflection” and “A Guided Meditation and Prayer” each week.

By the Deacons of Plymouth

he Christian Season of Advent embraces four weeks of preparing our hearts for the “coming of Christ” at Christmas in and through the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. During Advent, our preparation helps us become more open to Jesus’ continuing, never-ending spiritual birth into our lives as the Christ. As our congregation’s Board of Deacons, we seek to encourage you in this season of preparation by providing this collection of 2021 Advent Devotionals. They are written by members of our congregation for each of the traditional Advent weekly celebrations of Hope (November 28), Peace

This year, all the Advent Devotionals relate to the theme, “An Advent of the Heart.” The word heart is not just the seat of sentimental life and warm emotions in its full biblical meaning. The heart is that point of our being where no divisions or distinctions exist, where we have a unified consciousness, where we are at one with God’s Spirit. That is to say, our hearts are where Advent happens, where Christ comes. Our hearts are where we come face to face

with the Christ as we experience hope, peace, love, and joy.

Though his poem was not written specifically for Advent, Buddy Prather’s “Why Poetry?” is about preparing our inner life (our hearts) to see, hear or feel all the hope, peace, joy, and love with which God gifts us in each moment of life. As a poet, he chooses “the avenue of poetry for offering thanks” in response to such experiences - - to such advents of the heart - - as a poet, he chooses “the avenue of poetry for offering thanks.” Here is the way he words his inner experience in “Why Poetry?” While young, did your parents teach you to rise well before dawn to listen for the inward hum surrounding first light? If so, you know this world to be breathing art. If not, you may come to know through guidance, a truth that is uniquely yours. You already know that the bones of this world-I mean that which gives sustenance, the basis of life that is strength and resilience-are clamoring for recognition. Recognition not as seeking status, only as preparing us to see. After dawn’s first light, a silence that paints, then little by little with maturing sun, the day unfolds with thanksgiving. I choose the avenue of poetry for offering thanks, like an impressionist painter, but steeped in words. Poems can turn me inside out, jostling gusts of imagination and emotion, a brevity of welcomed spaciousness. Like when the sparseness of a winter day lets bare branch and twig shine, I fast from an avalanche of leaves and words. There you have it. No storylines or plots, more feelings than thoughts, few words and gratitude unending. Margins: clean, wide, and free. May these 2021 Advent Devotionals be “poetic” expressions of the hearts of our writers. May they be a way for Plymouth Church to speak to Plymouth Church, that is, for hearts to speak to hearts as members share “An Advent of the Heart.” Our wish is that they help prepare your hearts for the coming of Christ this year! 2

Advent Week 1: Nov. 28 - Dec. 4, 2021

Hope When Things Seem Hopeless By Liz Smith Things are hard right now. We are recovering from the trauma of the pandemic, from so many lost moments with loved ones. I hope that when things seem hopeless, we can hear God whispering those long-ago promises into our hearts. Promises for a bright future, for kindness to one another, for peace. Advent reminds us to wait patiently, seek God with all our hearts, and remember the promise of God’s grace.

his autumn, I taught a course on God’s covenant with us as revealed in the Hebrew Bible. We spoke about the covenant with Noah when God revealed a rainbow and promised never to bring destruction to humanity again. We spoke about the covenant with Abraham when God promised a beautiful future with descendants that would outnumber the stars. We talked about the covenant with Moses when humanity was asked to honor God and one another. We spoke of the covenant with David when God’s peace was established for a time on Earth. Finally, we talked about the new covenant described by Jeremiah, an everlasting covenant, a promise that God’s word will be written on our hearts and that our sins will be forgiven and forgotten.

Where True Hope Lies

This scripture passage from Jeremiah 29 speaks to more promises of God made in a time of trial: 11“For

I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12 Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. 14 I will be found by you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back from captivity.[a] I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the Lord, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.” (Jer. 29: 11-14)

By Cindy Novelo “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.” - Aesop

oday I have a story to tell you. A true story. A few weeks ago, while visiting my daughter in Utah, I had a little scare. I’d been having a pain in my armpit for a few days but could detect no swelling, no lump, no visual anything. Then on Saturday night, the pain started to radiate down my arm, and Sunday morning, I woke up to some very strange bruising - in a streak from my armpit down to my inner elbow where it was most pro-

Jeremiah was writing to the Jewish exiles, reassuring them that even though they had been driven out of their homes, they would one day be able to return to the land that they knew and loved.

nounced and where a small lump was forming. So now I was worried. This was not normal. This did not look good.

nician, the ER doctor - every single one - were kind, considerate, thoughtful. They listened carefully to my description of events, asked lots of questions, listened closely to my concerns - and responded accordingly. We even shared a few stories and jokes. It was all pretty sweet.

We’d been planning to head up to the mountains to play in the new-fallen snow that day, so I started getting ready while my daughter did a little internet sleuthing. What she turned up was not good. That pain and bruising in my arm? All the signs of a blood clot. Not good.

But the best part came at the very end of my emergency room stay. Once all the tests were done, reports were in, and the diagnosis was confirmed, the doctor who had been tending to me sat down next to my hospital bed, looked in my eyes, and asked me if I had any additional questions or concerns. This was an ER, a busy place, yet he took this time. Then he reached out to shake my hand and said softly, “Thank you for wearing your mask.”

So, we headed into an urgent care facility. And yep. That was their suspicion too. It was a Sunday, though, so they couldn’t get me the ultrasound I needed for confirmation. So, they sent me to a hospital ER. I really wasn’t feeling that bad, but now, of course, I was worried! What the urgent care provider had said to me was, “I most definitely do not want to send you up into the mountains today where an ‘event’ might occur.”

I said, “of course!” Then I placed my other hand over his and said, “Thank YOU for all your service over the past 18 months of this crazy time of the pandemic.” This ER doctor, a busy professional, a man, started to cry. Not full-on sobbing or anything, just tearing up.

Mmmhmmm. I know that medicalese. “An event.” You know, like a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in your lungs), heart attack, or stroke. You know. Little things like that that can happen when blood clots break loose and travel to essential organs.

He said, “oh my, now I’m going to cry.”

Of course, my daughter and I then started to tear up too. Such an incredibly tender, poignant moment - this moment of shared human compassion.

So, yeah. Thankfully, the ER doctor had a different diagnosis - lymphangitis - a strange swelling of the lymphatic vessels caused by a staph infection (in my case, origin unknown). It’s a condition that presents in a very similar way to how a deep vein thrombosis (deep in the vein blood clot) might.

But there is more - and this part is perhaps even more surprising. The doctor left the room quickly after he started to tear up - I’m assuming so he didn’t become more emotional in this professional setting. When he returned, as he was giving me my discharge papers, he also slipped me a piece of folded-up paper, a hand-written note.

Yikes!

Now for the best part of the story. Here is what it said: You would think an afternoon in medical facilities for emergency treatment would not be a very pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Especially when what was planned was a fun day in the mountains! But it was a pretty sweet afternoon. From start to finish, those who attended to me - the admissions staff, the nurses, the urgent care nurse practitioner, the ultrasound tech-

“Thank you for your kind words and your patience today. We rarely hear patients (fellow humans) say thanks or acknowledge our stresses. Our nurses are our true heroes, selfless, punctual, hard-working, and always here in the last 18 months. Thank a nurse. Pass it on.

your service” - especially to those on the front lines - but really to all who make possible our lives as we live them.

Good luck. Be good. Do good. Peace, Dr. D.”

May we celebrate this oh so precious life, whatever measure of health and fortune we have, and the power of the human heart, the power of gratitude, the power of kindness - this day, and always.

I couldn’t believe that he had taken the time to write me that note to thank ME for a simple expression of gratitude for his incredible service during these oh-so-trying times. I also found it hard to believe that the people he served so rarely expressed their gratitude. In one of the places where things have been the most acute, the most dangerous, the most dire during these incredibly challenging times. So rarely that it brought him to tears. Of course, I did his bidding and thanked the nurse as I left too. (He was stellar!)

Amen.

I won’t soon forget just how much my simple expression of gratitude meant to this doctor. May we all follow his advice and pass it on - most definitely to our doctors and nurses but really to every single person who provides us a service, who offers us their care, or who treats us with kindness. This is where our true hope lies. Amidst all the struggles and the challenges and the negativity and the chaos, it is heartening to know that any act of kindness, no matter how small, can lift others up in ways we might never have imagined, giving hope and sustenance to those who might be on the verge of giving up, who may too often go unnoticed and yet who continue to serve. May we offer kindness wherever and whenever possible. May we say “thank you for

A traditional, spirited gospel hymn celebrates Christian living as “Standing on the Promises of God.” In your experience, has there been a time when the promises of God were a source of hope for your life? In your life experience, where does true hope lie? In acts of kindness? In encouraging others? In helping to sustain others? What gives you true hope today? What story would you share about yourself that was an advent of hope in your heart?

By Phillip Kroh

Prayer Bring the repetition of your mantra or phrase into an attitude of prayer. After each repetition, take a long deep breath listening or feeling in silence. Notice where you feel stiff or sore and perhaps rub your arms, shoulders, or stretch while you breathe. I suggest repeating the process three times.

Meditation Create a personal phrase or mantra for inviting hope, something that comforts or gives strength. Perhaps an inspirational phrase or scripture that speaks to you. Practice a few times, lining up the rhythm of the repetition with your breath.

Advent Week 2: Dec. 5 - Dec. 11, 2021

A Glimmer of God’s Eternal Peace off a rather desperate prayer for guidance, for words, for help!

By Susan Denning

The time had come, and it was my turn to speak. I still had no clear idea of what I might say. I took a deep breath and looked around the room. My eyes fell on my two children, a boy of 13 and a four-year-old girl. Beyond them, I could see the first flakes of snow swirling under the outside lights. I was aware of the hush of the group as they patiently waited for whatever I would share. I don’t remember my exact words, but I remember choking up a bit and saying something about our children being angels from God. And I remember us laughing because, of course, children are not always all that angelic. Most clearly, however, I recall that I felt a sense of peace rather than a sense of panic. God was present at our dinner. God was present in that space. God was present in the snow and the glowing lights. God was present in my children and the other children there that night. God was present in me.

had overcome my normal tendencies as an introvert to avoid social gatherings and taken my two children to an Advent dinner at our small Methodist church in Reno, Nevada. Not having grown up in a family actively involved in church life, I hoped to build a sense of church community for my children, even though I struggled to get beyond my fears of engaging with others in social settings. We took our seats in the fellowship hall, which by day was a nondescript space with the usual folding tables and chairs, fluorescent lighting, and industrial -grade carpeting. That evening, though, it had been transformed. Tablecloths and Christmas centerpieces made by the children in Sunday school adorned the plastic tables. Mismatched dishes and silverware looked lovely in the twilight. Christmas carols played in the background, abundant potluck dishes covered the counters, and colored lights glowed and twinkled from the ceiling and around the edges of the room. The sky dimmed to grayish violet outside a long bank of windows as snow clouds lowered to the valley floor.

Today, having experienced 25 more Advents and having read, learned, and lived further into my faith, I would still say that our children and grandchildren are precious angels from God. And I would also say that Advent is an opportunity to experience and re-experience the beauty of Christ-inspired imagery, music, and celebrations. A time to ponder the awe-inspiring truth that God so loved the world that a child was sent to live among us and show us a different way of loving and being loved. I would say I believe that the season of Advent provides us the opportunity to prepare and open our hearts to the coming of Christ.

I can’t recall the food or if I managed to find someone that I felt comfortable sitting with. I do remember that, after we had shared our meal together, the pastor asked each of us to share a thought about the meaning of Advent. My mind raced, and my heart rate sped up as I tried to think of something worth sharing. To be honest, I had never really thought about what Advent meant to me, and I was certainly a novice at articulating my feelings about God, and especially about Jesus. What could I possibly say that would have any meaning for others? (And that wouldn’t embarrass my adolescent son). So, as I often did (and still do), I sent

Many specifics have been forgotten when I recall that Advent dinner long ago, but I know I experienced an “Advent of the heart.” God flooded me with peace that evening, and that sense of

presence of another person, even Jesus, into the very center of our hearts. To allow him to touch the sensitive core of our being and see who we are and not only what we are is the ultimate risk. To do so is to become vulnerable to letting our meaning suddenly come from another source than just ourselves - to let it come from God and not just ourselves pretending to be God.

peace remains with me still. God is present. God is good. We are God’s beloved children. The beauty of Advent is once again with us. May we be blessed with lovely glimmers of God’s eternal peace.

Preparing Our Hearts for Peace

There’s a preparation to make for the coming of God’s peace in Christ, but with these blocks of the threats or risks of silence and openness how might we truly prepare our hearts? God’s grace in Christ is always present to meet our spirits and to hear our aches, to touch our fears, to share our sorrows, and to move us to being at peace within ourselves. The truth is that in and of ourselves, our hearts are likely never to ever really be prepared in a hospitable silence for Christ’s coming - everything will never be just right outside or inside. I believe that our preparation is primarily an opening of our hearts to receive the peace of Christ by trusting that God’s grace will grasp us and hold us and enable us to face the threat and risk of silence - and openness. God’s grace prepares us for an unexpected advent of the heart of Christ’s peace. Just let it happen for and to you.

By Fred Kandeler

ne thing is needful for an advent of peace into our hearts. Prepare your heart by allowing God’s grace God’s loving, spiritual power to open your heart to Christ’s peace.

Chester A. Pennington once wrote a prayer for this grace with which to prepare our hearts for Christ’s coming into our hearts. The prayer is the last five lines in his poem, “Emmanuel: God with Us.” I hope it will help you experience an advent of peace in your heart this advent:

Such preparation is not doing something. It is being someone to receive the peace of Christ. Simply let God’s grace create in your heart an open, hospitable space where you can sit quietly, silently in God’s spiritual presence and receive the peace of Christ into your life.

He came to us, as if to say, I am always with you. He gave himself, as if to say, I am always for you. But disguised and unknown - He was seen He was received Only by those who willed it so. As then, so now, he is among us disguised, unknown. His presence waits on our seeing. His giving waits on our receiving. Christ Jesus, with the gift of thyself, Grant us grace To know Thee To receive Thee Emmanuel, God with us.

I think this preparation is most difficult for most of us for two reasons. First, the silence of being is more threatening than the noise of doing. We simply don’t know what to do with silence because we are alienated from silence by the normal noises of daily life that surround us and grip us with an intense unrest. Silence becomes the real disturbance, for it is such an exceptional experience. Then also, we are alienated from silence by noise from outside us and by noise from inside us. Turn off the racket from outside, and a new noise arises from all the unresolved ideas and feelings that scream for attention within us. The second block to our preparing for the peace of Christ in our life is that to allow the 11

By Phillip Kroh Meditation Find a comfortable position sitting still or with small movements. Breathe in while counting to two, then exhale while counting to two. Increase the count with each breath until they are long and slow. When you reach your longest comfortable breath, count back down with your breath until you get to one.

Prayer As you finish counting down, allow yourself to breathe calmly and naturally. I invite you to speak with God or Christ in prayer about a challenge you have been facing this season. Perhaps in your prayer invite the Spirit to strengthen you or help you feel peace as you face these difficulties.

What does the biblical phrase, “a peace that passes understanding,” mean for you? Seek to recall a moment of God’s presence in your life that you might describe as a “glimmer of God’s eternal peace.” What is its lasting meaning for you? How did it happen to you?

Are you willing to risk the “silence of being” by “shutting down the noise of doing” to experience an advent of peace in your heart? What would that specifically be like for you? Is it possible to just let peace happen to you?

Advent Week 3: Dec. 12 - Dec. 18, 2021

A Moment of Joy By Barbara Palmer

Your Heart Will Rejoice

arly start this day. This is Sidney’s (now known as Justin) sixth birthday. Sheet cake is just decorated as a ranch, using pretzels and other edibles. Ice cream and Kool-aide are on hand in abundance. It is Saturday, so Dad can help. Invitations had instructed friends to wear something to look like a cowboy/girl or an Indian boy/girl. (Now, I would have used a better term; First People or at least, Native American, but this was 1969, and I was a typical White, uninformed Mom.) The birthday boy had slept in his costume in anticipation. Four-year-old brother Nathan is unhappily wearing a feathered headband. Mom and Dad are also appropriately dressed, but I have no idea wearing what.

By Erin Keith-Chancy

s a girl, I often asked my mother, “Why did you make my middle name Joy?” I knew the answer. I just loved to hear her tell the story. I hope she knew that. Even when I rolled my eyes, told her it was “weird,” and asked if I could change it to “Cassiopeia.”

We have a beautiful day, so much of the playtime and, hopefully, eating, can be outdoors. Fun music for the western theme - with drums - is both indoors and outside, arranged and managed by Dad. Games are planned with directions mentally rehearsed by Mom.

She would say, “We wanted a little girl very much, but the doctors said no more babies. Then you surprised us and brought us joy.” Ironically, I have a rather melancholy nature. I have wrestled with depression most of my life.

Friends arrive, bearing gifts. Excitement builds. This is SIX YEARS OLD. First party with friends rather than extended family. All routine party happenings are delivered: free play, games, sing the birthday song. Blow out candles, eat, eat, eat. Open presents. Mom reads “When We Are Six” by Dr. Seuss. Run wild—play, chase, play chase. Seems a good time is had by all! All over before dinnertime.

The scripture says, “The Light shines in the Darkness, and the Darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5 ESV). It is read in churches during the holiday season, and each time I hear it, my heart expands in my chest, my chin rises, and I smile. I feel the power of those words. I feel joy. The opening description of Christ, soon to be born through pain, into uncertainty and suffering.

By 8:00, exhausted Mom and Dad have supervised bath time and tucked two sleepy little guys into bed for a long night’s sleep. We take a deep breath, settling into favorite chairs to reflect on the fun and foibles of the day. It was a moment of joy – an advent of the heart.

Later in John’s gospel, Jesus speaks to his disciples and says, “Whenever a woman is in labor, she has pain, because her hour has come; but when she gives birth to the child, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy that a child has been born into the world. Therefore, you too have grief now; but I will see you again, and your heart will rejoice, and no one will take your joy away from you. (John 16:20-22 ESV)

Then suddenly, little feet - coming. Tears streaming. Hands clinging to Mom with a sob. “What’s wrong, Sidney?” “Mommy, I don’t know how to be six!” 14

Discarded: One Perfect Baby Jesus

Like light and darkness, joy shows up in the contrast. Like the light, joy is formidable and persistent. Joy is happiness mixed up with the hard things. It is a promise and a surprise. For all those who are “acquainted with sorrow” in this holiday season, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.” (Romans 15:13 ESV)

By Judith Galas

y perfect Baby Jesus and I met when I was in the second grade, days before my First Holy Communion. “Jesus will be coming into your hearts,” Sister Paulette had told us. The next morning, we arrived at class to find a small, perfectly formed Christ child on each of our desks, nesting in a hollow once reserved for inkwells. With its chubby, pink arms, smiling face, head encircled in brown curls, and he stole my heart. I couldn’t possibly have imagined then that almost 20 years later, I would sell him off at a pre-move garage sale. For on that school morning, as my fingers curled protectively around the tiny porcelain body, he was unbelievably precious. That Christmas, Baby Jesus joined my family’s rag-tag group of manger characters. Chips in the plaster of Paris of Mary and Joseph revealed their stark white inner cores. One wise man was missing; a sheep had lost a leg, the cow a horn. Nevertheless, my mom arranged the lot under the tree each Christmas, nestling them inside the cardboard stable she had purchased in her teens.

Baby Jesus, however, was the star. I can still see him glowing in the manger, his arms raised, his face smiling at me. When I married at 20, mom bestowed the family crèche on me. Her daughter, she assumed, would soon be starting her own family, and making memories. She couldn’t know then that her daughter, eager to feel grown-up and free of religious constraints, would kick traditions and crèches to the curb. My daughter’s entering nursery school turned my heart toward memory-making. That Christmas, I decided to get a tree and frugally purchased a few decorations. My little girl would help me make paper garlands. Then, like Mom, I would nestle the crèche under the tree, and my daughter and I would take the shepherds from their pastures to the stable, the camels would lumber toward the star, the angels would sing, and Baby Jesus would smile on us. But I couldn’t find the stable or Baby Jesus. I scoured the closets, sobbed as I turned the storage area upside down, and rummaged through unpacked boxes. Gone. Every piece. I dissolved when I finally accepted the only likely explanation: I had sold it during one of our moves. Suddenly drained of Christmas joy, I shoved the newly purchased decorations into the closet. The next Christmas, I resolutely went to our local dime store and chose the major players of the Christmas story—Joseph and Mary, a shepherd with a lamb draped over his shoulders, three wise men, and some stable animals. I gazed down at the inferior infant in my hand - molded plastic with baby and manger fused as one. No pink body that I could lift from the straw, no curls, no smiling face. It wasn’t my Baby Jesus. It was an imposter. I plucked some dried grass and arranged the pieces in a discarded wooden bird feeder. For more than 40 years, unpacking this nativity reignited my guilt. I chastised myself. “How could you have been so callous? So careless? “ Still, my nativity was becoming sweeter in its familiarity. Through the years, I’d added other mismatched but appropriate players. The china donkey from Clovelly, England, lived in the stable. Two small camels made of real camel hide and bought 16

from a boy hawking goods in Tangiers stood with the wise men. Several more angels offered tribute, but Baby Jesus remained a blob of lifeless plastic.

tured my 7-year-old heart, and that will live forever in my imagination. This Christmas, I know I will joyfully anticipate unpacking my nativity. In part, that joy will spring from a bit of wisdom: When you create something, it becomes special. But, that joy also will spring from a deepening faith: I did not sell Baby Jesus at a garage sale, for the Holy has always been with me.

Last Christmas, I stroked the rough wood of the old bird feeder and marveled at how something discarded had transformed into a perfect stable. Instead of guilt, the crèche now conjured memories of friends, travels, and a faith journey that had moved from youthful rejection to a renewed embrace of the holy. And plastic Jesus? Well, he’s morphed into a sweet reminder of the porcelain baby that cap-

Joy By Julia Gaughan “What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” - John 1:3-5

have the joy of participating in a Covenant Group here at Plymouth. We have been meeting since the summer of 2020 and had our first in-person gathering in November 2021. We were masked and excited, energy palpable among our small group. One of the quotes from our recent study stood out to me and others in our group. I share Saint Irenaeus’s words here for you to meditate on for a few minutes before continuing to read:

“The glory of God is man fully alive.” How do we as humans become fully alive? Jesus, as described in this week’s Gospel passage, has also been existing before his time on earth. Then, at a time ordained by God, Jesus came into being as a human. For all the miracles Jesus brought into this world, the one that I am continuously trying to get my head

gifts, in Christmas lights, in all the baked goods. So much joy! To feel our joy, we must let all the feelings have their space, though. We can make space for our grief, for our anger, for all the emotions we are not quite sure how to name. As a light for us, Jesus showed through his fully human and fully divine life what possibilities exist for all of us. To experience these possibilities, we must be present to them, willing to feel and live through and deal with all parts of being human. I know that I will experience grief this Advent season – this grief is waxing and waning already. And I am going to let myself experience this grief fully so that I might also experience the joy that it is to be alive, fully human, made in God’s image, and walk in the light Jesus brought to us. Glory be to God.

around is how Jesus lived, both fully human and fully divine. Jesus breaking bread at the tax collector’s house and welcoming the little children to him – I can imagine Jesus feeling joy during those times. Jesus overturning tables at the Temple or expressing his frustration with his disciples (or most of how Jesus comes across in the Gospel of Mark) – I can imagine Jesus feeling anger and despair during these times. Joy is a big emotion. It takes up space in my body, expanding my chest, deepening my breath. To me, experiencing joy means that I am experiencing life in full. To experience joy also means that I experience anger and despair at other times. One cannot numb away these tougher emotions without also numbing away joy. If I am stuck in anxiety or ruminating over the past, it is hard to let myself feel anything fully.

God, may you be with us in our joy and our grief. May your light continue to shine for us so that we might be fully alive in this time and place.

Advent is a season for all emotions. Yes – there is joy in Jesus’s birth, in watching our loved ones open

Remember some of the “fun and foibles” of some of your special days. How were they a source of joy for you? What is it about those special moments that bring a sense of joy to your heart? How have you experienced joy as “happiness mixed up with hard things”? How do you respond to the need to “feel and live through and deal with all parts of being human” so that you might also “experience the joy that it is to be alive to be fully human”? Have you experienced joy on the far side of your grief or anger? What made that joy possible for you? What life story might you tell of discovering joy through knowing that “God’s presence in Christ is always with you”? Or would you express your story of an advent of joy in your heart differently?

By Phillip Kroh

Prayer After coming up with a handful of things, I invite you to bring those things more closely into prayer. Perhaps speak appreciation of those involved, give thanks to them and God for the joys big and small these things bring into your life, invite the Spirit to help you open yourself more deeply to the Joy around you.

Meditation Think of a song you used to love years ago. Perhaps a song that you associate with a person, a time, a place, an event, or just love for its own beauty. I invite you to play that song and, moving into an attitude of prayer, think about the things in your life right now that bring joy, even small things.

Advent Week 4: Dec. 19 - Dec. 24, 2021

Incarnation By Fred Kandeler

he Christian Mystic, John, opens his Gospel by writing a prologue (John 1:1-18), a magnificent hymn celebrating incarnation. Incarnation, says John, reveals to us God’s Word made flesh. For John, Jesus of Nazareth is the Word, the incarnation of the very nature of God’s life and love - what God is like and how God always wants to be related to us. Incarnation, God’s love, happens to us as an advent of the heart, as we open our hearts to the Spirit of Jesus being born in us anew at Christmas. Now, it is not that God draws closer to us during Advent or Christmas than at any other time. On the contrary, God is never any nearer to us than God always is. Every moment, God’s creative, life-giving Spirit always supports us. Every moment, God’s love never ceases to hold us. Yet, for a few wonderful days during Advent and Christmas, we open our hearts and minds and souls wide enough to become more fully aware that this is so. I’m sure for most of us, incarnation is not just some nice theological truth that you would expect to hear about this time of the year. No, I believe that incarnation is the only thing left in life left onto which we can hold at certain times in our lives. When the circumstances of our lives seem only to be breaking our hearts or ruining our dreams or smashing our lives - at such times, we can cling to incarnation. During our darkest moments, God’s love is close to us, holds us, and is fully communicated to us through the physical life we live. No matter what, we can open ourselves to experience the reality of Incarnation, God’s love as an advent of the heart. I’ve always loved my friend, Jim Newton, and his song, “Incarnation,” that beautifully declares this reality. He wrote it to be sung for the celebration of the Sacrament of Holy Communion on Christmas Eve. It celebrates Incarnation, God’s love, an advent of the heart with these words: Sweet love, Holy Love I pour the wine, it pours like love Sweet life, Holy life I break the bread, it breaks like life

How much love gives us life How much life gives us love How much time till I see Bread and wine live in me.

Pass the cup, share the plate Remember why it’s not too late Time to offer, time to give All who will surely live

Sweet love, Holy love I love the wine, it loves like life Sweet life, Holy life I live the bread, it lives like love . . . Incarnation!

Sweet love, Holy love I drink the wine, it drinks like love Sweet life, Holy life I taste the bread, it tastes like life

Gazing out the bus window into deep darkness, all I could see was my dim reflection in the glass –the face of a young woman, stunned, shaken, sad. As I rode along–assaulted by memories, my mind whirling–I had never felt more at a loss or alone.

I Wasn’t Alone By Judy Prather

It was into that sorrow that I heard a voice in my head, but as clearly as if it had come from the next seat. It came with calmness, simplicity, certainty, and great love: “Judy, I am with you. Always.”

I closed my eyes and relaxed into that truth, allowing that Presence to carry me the rest of the journey. I wasn’t alone. And as surely as God is Emmanuel, I would never be.

first knew the truth that God was with me– truly with me–while riding a Continental Trailways bus late one night.

It was 1973. I was 21, newly graduated, and headed to seminary in the fall. I was spending the summer at home–in part because it was my last chance to be taken care of before facing the challenges of adulthood and in part because I was needed to care for others. My father was scheduled for open-heart surgery midsummer, around the same time the family’s first grandchild was due. By being there, I could support one and celebrate the other. Daddy’s heart attacks during my college years had brought me as close to death as I had yet come, but he had survived both. Otherwise, I hadn’t lost anyone I really loved too soon.

Unexpected Moments of Love

And then the news came. Allen was dead at 21. The sun was in his eyes. He pulled in front of a grain truck. Death was immediate.

By Mona Kandeler

My mother’s caregiving was stretched to her limits with a heart patient and a new baby in our home. So I would have to make the trip to Waco alone, where friends would meet me and take me to the funeral.

n the mid-1990s, Fred and I joined seven others from our congregation in Temple, Texas, to participate in a Benevolent Mission International (BMI) eyesight mission to Bolivia. BMI provided the eye doctors, and we provided the nurses and assistants. Since we lived close to Scott and White Medical Center, we asked for help securing medical supplies to take with us. We had large duffel bags filled with a wide variety of supplies to take with us. Our group also received used eyeglasses from the Lion’s Club.

I had taken a theology course that spring and had worked on my faith and found enough answers to keep going. I knew that being Christian didn’t exempt anyone from sorrow. I had been told and thought I believed that God could work in any situation to make it usable. But only my head knew those things. My heart shouted how senseless this was.

We flew to Bolivia via Florida, and we landed in Cochabamba, Bolivia. We were greeted by native Bolivians and transported to a rural community health clinic in the valley of Malcom Rancho, where the eye clinic, including cataract and trigia surgeries, was to be held. After setting up the clinic and meeting all the staff, we began seeing clients.

sometimes a pencil is not at hand. I do not fold over pages, though. Surely that counts for something. When I turned to Isaiah 55 in preparation for writing this devotion, I found I had previously underlined verse 11 (in blue ink). Here are verses 10 and 11 from the New Revised Standard Version:

Those who needed only prescription glasses were referred to Fred in our “Boutique.” One of the first mornings of the clinic, Fred encountered a young male teen who needed a pair of glasses and was apprehensive about how he would look. After much discussion, Fred’s intuition came to the fore, and he suggested that the teen take a couple pairs of glasses and visit with his friends about which pair to choose. After a time, he returned, having made his choice. He left pleased to show his family.

10 For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return there until they have watered the earth, making it bring forth and sprout, giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater, 11 so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

On the last day of clinic, the tiniest of our postsurgical clients entered and motioned for me to come with her. She also approached the other tall worker and indicated she wanted a picture of herself standing between us. “Polaroid” to the rescue to capture an unexpected moment of love. Later that day, at our “going away gathering,” Fred was sought out by the young boy he had helped with glasses. Finding Fred, the young boy presented him with an oil painting that he had painted himself since getting his glasses. We brought the picture and another unexpected moment of love home with us!

Certainly, love is a feeling. We feel love for God, for others, for the world, and we feel loved by God and by others. But love is also something that we purpose. We can put our love to work. We can act out of love. We can act on behalf of love. God purposes rain and snow so that they might bring forth the food that sustains and nurtures us, and to God, the rain and snow return. God also purposes words to accomplish God’s will, and to God, those words will return. So, as we reflect on God’s act of love, sending Jesus into the world so that we might have an example of all that God makes possible, let us think about how we are putting love into action. What are we putting into the world? What purposes do our words aim to fulfill? Do our actions and words teem with the love that comes from God?

Love

God, may you put us to work in love, for love, through love, and by love so that we might bring forth your kingdom on earth as it is in heaven.

By Julia Gaughan

ometimes, opening my Bible is like an excavation. I find old bulletins, random slips of paper with hard-to-read notes on them, and a variety of bookmarks (my favorite is a homemade needlepoint cross). I also find underlining – sometimes in a variety of ink colors. My apologies to the book purists out there. I never use a highlighter. I prefer a pencil for underlining and notes, but

What do you think and feel in response to the word, Incarnation? Has Incarnation moved within you from being a head issue to a heart issue? Has it become a living experience of God’s love being born in and through your life? Is Incarnation (God’s love living in you, holding you securely, and becoming the driving force of your life) a reality that you deeply trust? Sometimes God’s love happens to us as a mystical experience that is hard to describe but leaves us with a profound sense of knowing. Or sometimes, God’s love happens to us as a gift in an unexpected moment of life. Does your life story have either of these kinds of love experiences? How might you put these experiences into words? How might you tell your story of the advent of love in your heart? How are you putting God’s love into action in and through your life? What are you “putting into the world?”

By Phillip Kroh

Prayer Try and hold that feeling of love inside of you and bring it to an attitude of prayer. In prayer, I invite you to think of someone difficult for you to love. A difficult co-worker, a rude customer, a friend you’re arguing with. With love in your chest, perhaps invite the Spirit to help expand your love for others, even for those it is difficult.

Meditation Find a comfortable sitting position with your hands in front of your chest, palms together as in prayer. Moving from your pinkies, gently press each pair of fingers together in turn and focus on the pressure as you move towards your thumb. Move your focus from fingers to forehead to your imagination. Bring to mind the face or image of someone you love dearly. Perhaps a memory that blooms feelings inside you like a balloon expanding. 25