The Waiting Game

Happy New Year, friends! 

Today at OPC we rang in the (liturgical) new year by observing the first Sunday of Advent, and I praught the sermon. Read below, if it suits your fancy! Shout out to Mom and Dad who came to Decatur for the occasion, and fed me lots of good food while they were here. :)

For more Advent reflections from members of the OPC family, keep an eye on the OPC blog. There you'll find new posts each day during the season (these are the electronic versions of a paper devotional book put together by some lovely church members).

Sidenote: This sermon will make a lot more sense if you read the Scripture for the day first. Crack open a Bible (or click this handy dandy link) to Matthew 24: 36-44.

Love,
Allison.

OPC's Advent worship series

The Waiting Game

We wait...for all sorts of things. We wait for the arrival of visitors. We wait for new babies to be born. We wait in Atlanta traffic. We wait for water to boil and grass to grow. We wait on car repairs, loads of laundry, and grades to be returned. We wait to hear back about job offers. We wait to hear if a sick or injured loved one will be okay. We wait for wedding dates, and changes of seasons. 

For many of these events we prepare and prepare. We cook, we fill up the gas tank, we visit the doctor and load up the washing machine. We fill out applications, we study, and we move the cold weather clothes from the back of the closet to the front. We do all the preparations we can but, for many of these things, after that it’s just a waiting game.

We are waiting, here. The changed color of the fabric around our sanctuary even signals that something is different! Something is coming! Maybe the sales and decorations that have inundated just about every store out there are trying to tell us it’s already Christmas. But there is still waiting to do. It’s not here yet.

The part of Matthew that we heard this morning comes toward the end of this Gospel, some time after the birth stories we’re used to hearing around this time of year, It also comes after many of the accounts of Jesus’ earthly ministry. Only a few chapters remain after this text before Matthew’s account of Jesus’ death and resurrection. So why are we reading it now? With this talk about waiting it seems like we’re maybe getting a little ahead of ourselves, to be thinking about a passage that describes something in the later part of Jesus’ ministry. After all...according to the church calendar Jesus hasn’t even been born yet!

But (maybe much to our dismay) waiting is not a one time thing. We have waited in the past, we will wait in the future. We wait right now. This first Sunday of Advent we begin the annual season in which we wait, to celebrate Jesus’ birth. And our text for this morning reminds us that Jesus’ birth was and will be about a whole lot more than a newborn baby in a manger. 

Waiting for Jesus to be born means waiting for everything that Christ came to do. 

There’s a lot of talk about what will be, in this morning’s words from Matthew. “So will be the coming of the Son of Man.” “Two will be in the field.” “One will be taken.” The present tense verbs, on the other hand, are few, and their message is relatively simple. “You do know know.” “Be ready.”

We don’t know when Jesus will return. No one does, according to Matthew, except for God -- “neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son.” So we wait.

And of course, it would be awfully hard for Jesus to return, if he hadn’t been born in the first place. Advent matters. We know the date on which we will celebrate Jesus’ birth. And many of us, I would imagine, have already begun preparations and decorations for that occasion. I would also imagine, though, that Advent contained a great deal of uncertainty for the people who experienced it the first time around. 

Mary, having been visited by an angel, knew she was carrying a precious and important child. She was told this child would go on to rule an everlasting kingdom. But she still had to wait. For nine-ish months, we might guess, Mary waited for Jesus to be born. She had to wait for room in the inn -- which turned out to be room in a stable. Mary and Joseph in all likelihood had to wait through the judgement of others -- those that would have questioned Mary’s pregnancy since she and Joseph were not yet married. They had to wait for Jesus to grow up and grow into his role as the Messiah. (After all, Jesus was a young adult before he began the bulk of what we read about earthly ministry.) Mary and Joseph and Jesus’ followers had to wait while he was hanging on the cross, and they had to wait for his resurrection. And according to Matthew we must wait for Christ’s return. 

To experience each of these moments in Jesus’ life must have involved an incredible amount of uncertainty. I would venture a guess that the words of certain uncertainty we find in Matthew fit well into much of Christ’s journey on earth. “You do not know.” 

The trick here, I think, is to become comfortable not knowing. To be okay waiting. Author Barbara Brown Taylor has a book coming out next year called Learning to Walk In the Dark, and I had the good fortune to hear her speak on the topic earlier this Fall over at Emory. She didn’t so much address the dark as specifically tragic events in life, but more so the times when we just aren’t sure what’s next. The times when, maybe, you can see a hand a couple inches in front of your face, but not much further than that. In that space we need to learn to be more comfortable. It’s no easy task, but instead of rushing to find the nearest flashlight, maybe it could do us some good to be okay taking a few deep breaths in the dark. After all, to Abraham, stars were a sign from God of his many descendants, and to the Magi a star was the compass by which they found Jesus. You can’t see stars unless you stand still in the dark and take a second to look up.

Waiting is not an unusual thing in Jesus’ story. But Advent is when it all starts. Advent is the waiting game. The one that sets in to motion all of the other waiting games to come. And I want to make sure to mention that I don’t use the expression “it’s a waiting game” to trivialize these events, at all. I use it because games require action.

Here’s the thing. Waiting, especially in this case, is not the same thing as sitting still. In this morning’s text Jesus paints a picture of what it might be like when he returns. During this waiting for Jesus’ coming, there are workers in the field and women grinding meal. The idea isn’t, I don’t think, to say “you don’t know when Jesus is coming, so sit still and wait.” 

Uncertainty abounds, but as Matthew says: “you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” So more likely it’s “You don’t know. Wait. But be ready.”

So what does it mean to take part in this active waiting? What does it mean to be ready. It might be easier to first guess what being ready is not. 

I saw a picture of a bumper sticker once that read “Jesus is coming! Look busy!” I suspect this phrase was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but either way I don’t think simply busy work is quite what this waiting should be. I’m also pretty sure that it doesn’t involve rushing straight on to Christmas. 

What I think waiting is is making time to sit in the dark. Maybe not always the darkness of painful experiences, although those are very much a reality for some, but the also sitting in the darkness of uncertainty. Because it is in this darkness that we’ll eventually see the star of Christ, lighting the way. While we wait in the dark we can be watchful, always looking.

And while we wait, we will prepare. 

Some of you who come to Sunday school may remember a few weeks ago, when we talked about the Passover and the Israelites’ subsequent Exodus from Egypt. In case you’ve forgotten, and those of you who weren’t there, we talked and read about the time leading up to the Exodus -- the time the Israelites spent waiting, and preparing, to leave Egypt. The Israelites received instructions on how to protect their families during what we now call the Passover -- by spreading sheeps’ blood on their doorposts, the angel of Lord would know to go past their houses. They also received instructions on how to eat the Seder meal that is still observed by many Jewish communities. Here’s part of these instructions, in the Lord’s words to Moses: “This is how you shall eat it: your loins girded, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand; and you shall eat it hurriedly. This is the passover of the Lord.” Sandals on feet and staffs in hands -- they’re supposed to be ready to go. Although the Israelites were waiting -- for the angel of the Lord to pass, for their eventual journey out of Egypt -- there were things they needed to do to get ready. To be ready, at a moment’s notice. I don’t think many people would sit around with shoes on and a walking stick in hand, if they weren’t expecting something to happen. 

Friends, something is about to happen. Now Advent is not the Exodus. Our waiting to celebrate the birth of Jesus is not the same as a people preparing to leave captivity and a country they had called home for quite some time. However, we too, like the Israelites, are called to be watchful and ready. 

This season of Advent that we enter today requires some preparation. Waiting requires some preparation. And so we light candles and we will hang greens. Probably most of us will prepare our living spaces in addition to our worship spaces. And through this preparation our waiting can, in turn prepare our hearts for the celebration of the birth of our Lord. 

Waiting is confusing. Waiting is intriguing and exciting and frustrating. Waiting is hard. Waiting is holy.

Advent is bigger than four weeks in December. Advent is more than lighting candles and hanging greens. 

Waiting for Jesus to be born means waiting for everything that Christ came to do. 

So as we enter this season of preparation, let us remember to be awake, to be watchful, and to be ready. 

Amen.

A Knitter's Church

Hello friends! 

This year I'm working part time as the Student Pastor at Oglethorpe Presbyterian Church, about 30 minutes down the road from school. Today I praught* my first sermon at OPC. Knitting, New Orleans, and Mr. Rogers make appearances. If it suits your fancy, keep scrolling to check it out. If you'd rather listen, you can do that here.

Love, Allison.

* If teach = taught, preach = praught! This new vocab word is brought to you by a good friend/fellow seminarian. 

(You can blame preaching class at CTS for my
sketchbook-and-colored-pencils sermon prep habits.)

^{Ephesians 2:17-22, 4: 15-16}

¹⁷So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near; ¹⁸for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father. ¹⁹So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God, ²⁰built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone. ²¹In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord; ²²in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling-place for God. ¹⁵But speaking the truth in love, we must grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, ¹⁶from whom the whole body, joined and knitted together by every ligament with which it is equipped, as each part is working properly, promotes the body’s growth in building itself up in love.

***

The church I want us to think about today is Oglethorpe, but it isn’t exactly the painted white brick exterior, the pews you’re sitting on, or our cheerfully colored preschool hallways. This morning’s reading from Ephesians may not be talking about our specific Brookhaven church, or even any tangible brick-and-mortar structure. But that doesn’t mean it’s completely lacking in language about buildings.  For example, we hear from Paul that the church is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus as the cornerstone.” 

 These days some physical cornerstones are more ceremonial than structural, taking the form of a large commemorative stone on the corner of a building, often marking the year in which the building was constructed. More importantly, the cornerstone is the point from which the rest of the building is oriented. Each wall of the structure is ultimately situated according to the cornerstone.  

So the greater Church can rely on Christ the cornerstone, who aligns the rest of our foundation, made up of the apostles and prophets, according to Paul. And it is through their teachings that we, the brick-and-mortar members, begin to be “built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God.”

As Paul’s letter to the church in Ephesus continues, it gets more specific about the body that is this dwelling place for God, and the words start to sound more like we’d find them in an anatomy lesson than in class on construction. Not only is Christ this dwelling place’s cornerstone, he is the head, “from whom the whole body is joined and knit together by every ligament with which it is equipped.” A head...a body...and ligaments...the church is alive. Christ the cornerstone, and the rest of the apostles and prophets, serve as the foundation of this living, breathing, growing body of Christ that is the church. 

I don’t exactly know the science behind a body being knit together by ligaments, as Ephesians says we are if Christ is the head. But I do know that when I first read that sentence in the Scripture for today, I couldn’t help but think of another kind of knitting. My kind of knitting involves a ball of yarn. Now I should also confess to you that when I say “my kind of knitting,” I mean I would consider myself a beginner, at best. I have a few scarves under my belt, a dishcloth or two, and last Christmas break I graduated to making a hat (but my mom had to come to my knitting rescue at the end of that project). My novice status aside, here is what I know to be true about knitting. It usually requires at least a little guidance. It always requires patience. It also helps if you’re a naturally fidgety person. Although I don’t know that fidgeting is a requirement of the body of Christ, I can say from personal experience that it probably happens from time to time. Finally, in the world of knitting, as my Mom has informed me: “a real knitter never ties a knot.” This excludes the slip knot that is often used at the very beginning of a project, but either way, the point isn’t to tie the yarn so tightly together that there is no possible way it will ever move. Of course you hope your new scarf or hat or sock stays together. And it probably does! But the reason for that isn’t knots. When it comes down to it, knitting is really a series of fancy loops. Each time the needles are moved, the yarn makes one loop, slips through another, and becomes an anchor of sorts for yet another future loop, as each part of the yarn  gently and flexibly supports another in its place. Knots are even avoided when a new ball of yarn is brought into a project in progress. The new piece of yarn is held next to the old, makes its first loop and is woven into the former and future loops. So, these loops are where our work comes in. Jesus is a knitter in this hat or scarf or dishcloth of a church. He’s the beginning of our series of loops, ultimately their anchor. But we too, are knitters of the body of Christ. 

Some of you may be familiar with the prayer shawl ministry that is present in many congregations. The ministry’s website describes their project like this: “Compassion and the love of knitting [or] crocheting have been combined into a prayerful ministry and spiritual practice which reaches out to those in need of comfort and solace, as well as in celebration and joy. Many blessings are prayed into every stitch. Whether they are called Prayer Shawls, Comfort Shawls, Peace Shawls, or Mantles, etc., the shawl maker begins with prayers and blessings for the recipient. The intentions are continued throughout the creation of the shawl. Upon completion, a final blessing is offered before the shawl is sent on its way.”

 The page goes on to say that sometimes recipients will go on to make shawls for others, as God’s comfort spreads throughout the community. 

One more thing I’ll mention, about knitting. It is sometimes very. tedious. Once you get the hang of the basic moves, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, especially for the fidgeters among us, including myself. But however familiar the moves, knitting still requires care and attention. And the careful nature of crafting these loops means that every inch of that yarn, however briefly, has been touched by the knitter. 

And a certain balance of tension must be maintained in the yarn, to successfully complete a project. A knitter must keep the yarn pulled tightly enough to guide it into place. But also essential is that the yarn has some room to move. Just as ligaments help our bodies bend and stretch, flexibility is key in knitting.

So to truly live into our places in the church as the body of Christ -- whether we are held together as ligaments or as pieces of yarn -- we have to allow ourselves to be knitted, and we need to do some knitting ourselves. And just as Christ is the cornerstone of our foundation, he can be the first loop of yarn -- or the slip knot -- that holds the rest of us in place. Whether you grew up in this church, whether you’ve been here for a few years or a few weeks, or whether you are visiting today for the first time, Christ holds us together as one body, as the first loop and as the foundation for the gift that is this community. This community of faith is one that includes Oglethorpe, of course, but also one that goes beyond it.

The year before I started seminary at Columbia, I spent a year living in New Orleans with the Presbyterian Church (USA)’s Young Adult Volunteer program. Not only did my fellow volunteers and I become knit together, we were woven into the fabric of the cities in which we served. That year living in community with other volunteers challenged me and helped me grow in countless ways, but one thing of the clearest memories I have took place in my very first week there. My housemates and I, along with some volunteers from another program, were on a tour of the city. We saw some of the usual sites, and we got to know some new neighborhoods. We stood on the levee looking over the Lower Ninth Ward. What is most memorable about that day, however, is a comment that our tour guide made, at the end of the tour. While we were debriefing the things we’d experienced that day, our guide shared some of her thoughts on the years following Hurricane Katrina. As she painted a picture of the city’s recovery process which included the gradual departure of the various forms of aid, and the media’s movement on to the next pieces of breaking news. But she made one thing clear. She said: “The church never forgot us.” As members of the church, we care for all the parts of our knitted body.

Our guide wasn’t just talking about the specific group of faith-based volunteers that was standing in front of her, nor specifically about the Presbyterian Church. The church that remembered New Orleans is a mosaic of helpers spread far and wide, from a vast array different traditions and geographical locations. One of my favorite Presbyterians, Mr. Rogers, once said: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’ To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers, so many caring people in this world.” 

These words from Mr. Rogers have more to do with knitting than the fact that he wore a lot of sweaters. New Orleans is part of this knitted, global church, and the helpers that arrived after that hurricane -- and that still arrive today -- were and are proof of this connected church. 

The other thing about most knitted garments? They’re washable. Although New Orleans faced devastation in the wake of Katrina’s floods, and its people were scattered across the country, small rays of hope came in the form of helpers from faith communities across the country. Slowly but surely the helpers began to knit back together the stretched loops of New Orleans.

It is through this caring -- both for people in our own congregation and for people outside of it -- that we can, as Ephesians puts it, build ourselves up in love.  So, as we live out the coming week together let us remember that we are built on Christ’s sure foundation. And that as we continually knit each other together with intention and openness -- a thoughtful, creative, sometimes tedious process -- this community of faith will continue to build and be built up in love.

Amen.

Home is where...

Hello, old friends!

If you've spent any time with me in person lately, you've probably heard me mention (okay...probably whine about) having to switch my license and car tags to Georgia. I may or may not be slightly sentimentally attached to my home state, so it's been an interesting experience to give up the paper trail that connects me to it. But, the deed is done. (All it took was essentially daily texts from Mom "encouraging" me to get my butt to the DMV. Sorry for the foot-dragging, parents...) Madame Blueberry is officially a peach, and I've got the driver's license to match!

Considering the places I've lived since college, the past handful of years adds up to, more specifically, five states in four years. On one hand, this bouncing around has been a blessing. I've gotten to know some wonderful cities, and through their differences and similarities they and the people in them have allowed me to grow in my understanding of myself and of other people. On the other hand, I very much look forward to an eventual day when I can again have the chance to make more long-term connections to one geographical place.

These days it's awfully tricky to answer the question: "Where are you from?" I don't feel like it's totally honest to simply answer "North Carolina," seeing as it's been a while since I really lived there. But I also don't feel right simply saying "Georgia," because Decatur is still only a small part of my story. It usually goes something like this: "Well, I'm originally from Davidson, North Carolina (but I was born in Ohio). I went to school in South Carolina, and I also worked at a camp in western North Carolina. But then I lived in Nashville and New Orleans with a volunteer program. Now I'm in school near Atlanta."

North Carolina will always be home. But I will also feel at home in Greenville, in Nashville, and in New Orleans. After some time adjusting, I'm claiming Decatur too.

So what does "home" even mean, if I feel like all of these places are still holding little (or huge) parts of me?

Home is where your family is, whether that family is defined by blood, a summer camp, a school, or a volunteer program.

Home is where you can be challenged, and challenge some things yourself. 

Home is where you grow.

Home is where you sit at table with others.
Home is where you care and are cared for.
Home is where you have a favorite coffee shop.

Home is a noun, an adjective, an adverb, and a verb. (Really.)

Home is where you can make mistakes.
Home is where there are second chances.

Home is where you live.

Home is where you love.

So, friends, here's to having long answers to "where are you from?" And here's to finding homes wherever we go.

Love,
Allison.

I may claim more than one state these days, but...belated birthday present, anybody?