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¹ John 1.4-7

We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.

This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light and in him there is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him while we are walking in darkness, we lie and do not do what is true; but if we walk in the light as he himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.

How hard it is to tell the truth and do what is true! I confess: I was born and walked in darkness most of my non-Christian life; and even now, five years after my baptism, I still walk in darkness. But there’s a difference: I now know when I’m walking in darkness. I can tell the difference. Indeed, darkness is vastly different than light, and hallelujah!

What is the light? Who is it that has no darkness, no shadow? Who is this God made of light, walking in light, containing all? When I walk in the light, I do not become as God is, and yet, as John’s gospel tells us, I can have fellowship with you, my sisters and brothers in Christ, and pray to be washed clean of my many sins.

For me, this walking in the light so that I might have fellowship with you begins with contemplative prayer in the form of poetry writing. I’ve been writing poetry for most of my adult life—but this kind of poetry writing, this “contemplative” writing, is different and has come about very, very recently, after a long absence from any kind of writing, after the aftermath of a family crisis and the death of my aunt from COVID. Also, I’m teaching from home now, and am blessed to have a separate, quiet room at home in which to work, pray and write uninterruptedly.

I wake in the morning and cannot shake the darkness: the fears that have surfaced in my sleep, the afterimages of hospitals and deathbeds, the emotional ingestion of grief and suffering, hunger, homelessness, illness and death taking place every day for millions, corruption and incomprehensible greed at the highest levels of governance, a disregard for our natural home and its creatures. Where is the light? Who shall bring it?

Sometimes I let my fears and doubts—or my paperwork and busywork—have the upper hand, and I persuade myself that entering the light for an hour just isn’t worth it. Sometimes I manage to convince myself that the light is an illusion, and I go about my day—or days—ever so gradually turning back into a machine that churns out projects, products and results and forgets to feel.

Eventually, driven by a sense of emptiness or longing, I return to my writing. I write to God. Sometimes I ask God a question. Sometimes I offer a confession. It hardly matters. There’s a radiance, a presence. A stillness in which God’s closeness is palpable and I feel inseparable from God and you, the bare trees, the snow, the light itself and the vast silence in which God creates everything. Sometimes, God seems to answer:

Advent I

I’d been too busy to pray or write.
Too busy for God.

“Go,” said God. “Get your calendar
and cross out your appointments.

Cross out the names of the months and days.
Tear off the year in its large, heavy type.

What do you have but a series
of empty boxes?

Do you think the soul stays neatly,
first in one, then the other?

Each day is a womb the fetus outgrows.
I stretch to accommodate you—

but imagine deciding to stay small.
There was less than a nanosecond

before creation, before I decided
to share myself

and everything, even you,
yet to be born.”

² Corinthians 4.3-6

And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake. For it is the God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,” who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

“We do not proclaim ourselves.” That these words were written nearly 2000 years ago is quite amazing to me. St. Paul could have been writing this as a message to us today. Spending our time and energy proclaiming ourselves, instead of proclaiming and living out the love of God, is a highly popular and time-consuming activity for most of us in the age of social media, self-promotion, and personal brand-building. But St. Paul knew then, as we know now, that proclaiming ourselves isn’t the right path or the Christian way of living.

The Christian way of living, as we are reminded here, is to serve others. We are asked to make deep commitments to those around us and honor those commitments. We are asked to love everyone. Personally, I need this reminder from St. Paul now and always. That we should live in commitment and active love is difficult, because we are tired, distracted, selfish, human. But through the difficulty it is the right path for us to choose. And it happens to also be the only path that brings anyone profound and lasting joy.

Let’s not let the love of God be veiled to us, or allow our minds to be blinded by the god of this world. Let us not proclaim ourselves. Now, in this Advent season, the time of darkness and of anticipation, let’s take a chance to proclaim the light of the knowledge of the glory of God. Now is the time for living in commitment and active love.

¹ Peter 2.5-9

like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. For it stands in scripture: “See, I am laying in Zion a stone, a cornerstone chosen and precious; and whoever believes in him will not be put to shame.” To you then who believe, he is precious; but for those who do not believe, “The stone that the builders rejected has become the very head of the corner,” and “A stone that makes them stumble, and a rock that makes them fall.” They stumble because they disobey the word, as they were destined to do. But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.

When reading this scripture, the words that spoke to me were "living stone" & "house." I love knowing that we are each alive but rooted in the Lord and that he is our foundation. Implicit in being alive is that you are ever changing and evolving, and in this scripture we see an image of a house being built with these individual stones. Each coming together for a greater good. In the past 9 months I have thought a lot about a house. In this time when we are confined to our, sometimes tiny, apartments we call home in order to keep ourselves and our neighbors safe from a virus, it can feel isolating. In isolation I am comforted by the image of us working together for something much greater- building a house and a world that is covid free. I want to also be grateful for my little home, though it may only be 500 square feet- it has provided me safety in this uncertain time. I know there are many in our city and our country facing houselessness. While we have retreated to our safe havens, and many have complained, we must not forget what a privilege this is.

While we have been isolated, I have thought a lot about what the house God is building will look like. Covid is not the only challenge we face as a nation. We have seen first hand that white supremacy, racism, bigotry, & sexism are flourishing in our country. It is important to remember that, in our isolation, grief, anger, sadness, and frustration, we can and must work together to create the house God calls us to be a part of. A house full of light pushing out the darkness. While I have often felt great darkness around us this year, I am grateful that my eyes have been opened to the realities of my fellow Americans. In this time of advent I am expectant and continue to pray for our country and communities. I pray God will reveal to us his vision for the house he is building so that we may shine a light in the darkness. I see glimpses of this in our community at Holy Apostles, and am grateful to be a part of the work happening here. Through Sacred Ground groups over the summer, supporting undocumented families with rent support, and providing school supplies to children at PS 15, I feel connected to God's heart, and pray we continue to seek out these opportunities to serve as a community, and individually.