We have many rituals on New Year’s Eve, and none involve partying.
During the day, I re-read my journals, which include prayers, to get a full scope of the year. As I read, I keep two lists: things to praise and things to which I say “good riddance.”
The “good riddance” list goes into one of our few remaining ashtrays to be burned. Illness and hurt and my husband’s career: Goodbye to all that.
I open a Bible where I keep the prayer that I wrote to God on New Year’s Eve last year. After reading it and reviewing my praises, I write another letter to God to be sealed away for 365 days.
Then, when we are home, we go to our church’s Watch Night service. Our church is diverse, and this service is a great gift from the African-American tradition. We sing, listen and pray for the return of Christ until midnight. Then everyone enjoys a dessert potluck. (We usually book it home, as midnight is an aspirational time in our calendars these days.)
My mother died on Dec. 27, slipping away in the sleep that had become a huge percentage of her days. She had dementia, and living in a skilled nursing home brought out the worst in her anxiety, depression and anger.
The day before she died, I had a brief visual of Jesus holding Mother and carrying her away. My impression was that he was talking to her. I ignored it as a figment of my imagination. Now I wonder if it was a kindness from the Lord, who knows that I have been concerned about the state of my mother’s relationship with God.
I think He had a long talk with her. I think she listened. I hope she agreed that she would forgive a list of folks and let Jesus’ death apply to her sins. That would be the gentleness of God.
All the festivities and food are slowing down. The Feast of Stephen, or Boxing Day, is a good time for us to slow down too.
I’ve always wondered what the discussion process was in putting the commemoration of Christianity’s first martyr the day after Christmas. Perhaps it is to show the possible cost of loving Jesus.
Today, try this mindfulness exercise: Eat silently and alone for one of your snacks or even a meal. Enjoy the presence of God with you, and pay attention to the sights, smells and tastes of the food he has blessed for you.
In him was life, and that life was the light of people. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.
My Advent has not been easy. My mother has severe dementia. I’m unexpectedly estranged from a beloved family member. Far too many of those I know dealing with a mental illness have had an episode. And my husband and I are ending an era as his retirement is just two workdays away.
My Advent has been deep. I’ve spent time in a silent retreat house and hours praying through Advent meditation programs. I have the time now to do what I wished: celebrating Advent as a time of waiting for the Lord.
I have had a common Christian experience: the wilderness experience. I didn’t recognize it for a while … so common is catastrophe in my life. But the Lord does allow wilderness experiences. And he even put Jesus through one. The wilderness, we are told, is the best place to help people learn faith and endurance. It is one way to move to the next level.
I see the next level approaching even as the Advent candles are burning down. It is to spend more time listening and following God. And less time charging ahead and begging for God’s help in the aftermath. God may keep me in the wilderness until this lesson is learned. But I know I will not be tested more than I can bear. Whatever happens, it is for the best for those who love the Lord. And I am one of them.
This holy season trumpets God’s extravagant love for us, a love beyond reckoning. Into our beautiful yet wounded world comes Emmanuel, God-with-us, carrying the promise of fresh hope to enliven our hearts. No matter how broken or seemingly hopeless our world may sometimes seem, the Advent messages are rich with joyous expectation and longing, insisting that God can and does bring forth life where none seems possible.
On the Fourth Sunday of Advent, we add the angel to the creche, watching for Joseph and Mary to arrive. Staying out of the stores, listening to meditations, and taking winter walks, it’s amazing how quiet the world becomes.
Today’s Christian mindfulness practice is to listen to your own words. An easy first step is to listen for verbal tics, like “ummm” or “you know.” You can also listen for the number of times that you routinely misuse God’s name. I know I still do. This is a great step toward true intentionality around the words we speak.
As Ruth Haley Barton says, “Growing self-awareness enables us to choose more truly the words we say. Rather than speech that issues from subconscious needs to impress, to put others in their places, to compete, to control and manipulate, we now notice our inner dynamics and choose to speak from a different place, a place of love, trust and true wisdom that God is cultivating within us.”
As we listen to ourselves, we may be able to slow down the auto-talk process to have enough time to ask before we speak:
- Is it kind?
- Is it true?
- Is it necessary?
Some wise counsel from Henri J.M. Nouwen in Here and Now:
One simple answer is to move from the mind to the heart by slowly saying a prayer with as much attentiveness as possible. A prayer, prayed from the heart, heals.
As you lie in bed, drive your car, wait for the bus, or walk your dog, you can slowly let the words of one of these prayers go through your mind simply trying to listen with your whole being to what they are saying.
You will be constantly distracted by your worries, but if you keep going back to the words of the prayer, you will gradually discover that your worries will become less obsessive and that you really start to enjoy praying.
By His own will, Christ was dependent on Mary during Advent. He was absolutely helpless. He could go nowhere but where she chose to take Him. He could not speak. Her breathing was His breath. His heart beat in the beating of her her.
Today Christ is dependent on us. This dependence of Christ lays a great trust upon us. During this tender time of Advent, we must carry Him in our hearts to wherever He wants to go, and there are many places to which He may never go unless we take Him.
Caryll Houselander, The Reed of God
At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth.
Luke 1: 39-40
When Mary agreed to become the mother of Jesus, she learned that her elderly relative Elizabeth also was expecting a baby. Her first major action was to walk to Elizabeth’s home in a different town.
The IVP Bible Background Commentary says a walk from Nazareth to the hill country took three to five days, depending on where Zechariah and Elizabeth lived. Because bandits frequented the route, Mary may have joined others in a caravan for safety. It’s hard to imagine her parents allowing her to go otherwise.
Once she was there, something extraordinary happened. God responded to Mary’s act of kindness by letting Elizabeth know that Mary was pregnant with the Messiah. What conversations these two women must have had as they spent months together!
Meditating on this, I was struck with the energy of Mary’s act. Even when I was young, it’s hard to imagine that I would walk for three to five days to go help a relative. I wondered how Mary did it.
In meditation, I saw the Mary’s energy and kindness always came from an overflowing of the grace of God in her soul. Too often, my kind acts come from a near-empty well. No wonder doing good can feel so exhausting to me.
The Lord suggested that I change my process from creating a to-do list and dragging myself along it. Instead, I should spend more time with the Lord in prayer, worship and communication. This will build up my supply of grace so the good that I can do is an overflow rather than a series of drips. Sounds like a plan.