Hebrew Bible and Christian Scriptures

Since at least 1948, the cultural answer for conflict in Colombia has been violence. The guerrillas want power, the cartels want power, the government wants power. The only way to achieve it is to kill anyone standing in your way. In similar stories to thousands of others in conflict countries – there are few other lives provided to the citizens of Colombia than to participate in the cycle. So the question – which I pose as a social worker and a person of faith – is where is hope? How can things ever change?

During my weeks in Colombia this summer, I had the privilege of spending time with inmates in two of the prisons in Medellin. After a morning in Bellavista, I scribbled down some thoughts that I haven’t known how to share. As we move towards the new year, I want to process the events of my year. The one which I have processed the least is my time in Colombia, so the trend should start there. After several failed attempts of crafting my scribbles into something larger, I am simply going to offer them in their entirety.

Upon entering Bellavista and after being fingerprinted and patted down, we walked past the soccer field. That field is where they used to play futbol with other inmate’s heads. Bellavista, you see, was once the most dangerous prison in the world. The stories I heard that day of its ‘heyday’ would turn anyone’s stomach. Now, however, it’s controlled. My friend Weimar tells me the most dangerous now is in Venezuela. Anyway, we walked through the courtyard and up the stairs, being jubilantly greeting by prisoners and guards alike. I was even invited to play chess! We were lead up a narrow flight of stairs to a room full of school chairs. Discarded clothes laid neatly upon them – the men had changed their for their upcoming baptisms.

I stood in a room reserved for reconciliation counseling and restorative justice and drank in the juxtapositions of healing, freedom and barbed wire.

After being offered coffee – yes, hospitality is holy even in prison – we were lead into the ‘temple’. Built and maintained by the prisoners, their church building is a bright room with plastic chairs and proclamations of their faith painted on the walls. I should explain here – the churhces in Bellavista are organized by patio (cell block). We met the pastor of this particular patio, a gentleman named Carlos. He was serving time for homicide, but like so many others found a new life while in prison. He explained that 15 men would be baptized that morning. Each had been led to faith by a fellow prisoner and each had been through a class before being allowed to make the confession.

The worship service was already happening – deeply off tune but achingly passionate singing filled the temple. I could actually feel their need to tell God how much they loved him and who he was to them; tangible joy overwhelmed me.

A baby pool was brought in filled with water. One by one the men were called forward. In white robes, they loudly confessed their faith in the living Christ. The pastor proclaimed that they were burried in Christ and raised by the Spirit as two staff members of the prison ministry dunked them under the water. And with that simple action, they demonstrated a change that had already begun.

We talk a lot in faith circles about change which must come with confession. I’ve rarely seen it demonstrated as strongly as I did that morning. Those men who were sentenced for heinous crimes stood up and rejected the plan for life their culture provided. They chose no to perpetual violence and yes to mercy and grace. They chose no to the cycle that runs through Colombia like a disease run amok and chose yes to reconciled life. It was possibly the holiest thing I’ve witnessed.

(this post is part of my guest series on advent, christmas, tradition and the like. if you’d like to contribute, comment below!)

joell and i met on a moving sidewalk in heathrow airport about five years ago. we had a casual friendship until about six months later when one day i stood in front of her desk at work and demanded to be her friend. i am a treasure, eh? but it worked and we haven’t really looked back since. sometime, make sure to ask me about my fear of ostriches, how we almost died in the back of a van in rwanda and how joell feels about london at christmas. she blogs at from cynicism to hope

I grew up in a family that is big on Christmas traditions.  Every December 4th my sister and I would slip our shoes out on the front porch (Christmas list tucked neatly inside) and wait in breathless anticipation for the sound of the bell, the sound of the arrival of St. Nicholas.  St. Nicholas was the bringer of my favorite candies and the one who would deliver my wish list to the Christ child.  Every child who follows this tradition knows that St. Nicholas brings candy (or fruit) for those who’ve been good or sticks and coal for the naughty.  Now one might think that eating candy out of a recently used shoe would be disgusting, but this was Christmas for me…and it tasted o’ so good.

Yet another of our Christmas traditions landed on Sunday evenings, specifically the four Sunday evenings prior to Christmas.  After we got out of evening service (yes, they made me go to evening service), we would rush home to celebrate advent.  Mom would prepare our special snacks and Dad would pull out a bottle of Welch’s Sparkling Cider, purchased just for the occasion. It was always my favorite part to be honest and I must say that even to this day, I’m a little bitter that there’s not more in that giant bottle.  I digress.

When all the snacky snacks were gathered, we would sit down around the dining room table.  My dad would place his well-weathered Bible in front of him and flip to the back, to the greatest story ever told…the story of the Christ child.  Each week he would read a section of the story, leading us deeper and deeper into the reality of God made flesh.  We read about a census, an angel, a long journey…a birth.  We heard of shepherds and of wise men…and then it was our turn, our turn to journey, to announce his coming, to worship.

Every week we would light a candle on our advent wreath, one my grandmother painted for us with a giant angel bursting from the center.  We would hold hands and sing, one carol for each week leading up to his birth. We all had our favorites. Mine was always “Joy to the World.”  My mother’s, “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.”  I remember those days.  My dad’s deep bass voice leading the way, my mom’s soft hand in mine, her voice croaking out carol after carol.  You see, my mom’s not the best of singers.  She will tell you so herself…but the thing about my mom is that she’s sincere.  She means every word she sings, even if it isn’t pretty.

I remember those nights so clearly.  I remember the expectation, waiting for our advent celebration to begin.  I remember reading the story, eager to skip to the end…you know, the good part.  I remember lighting the candle, a symbol of remembrance, of hope, of peace, of expectation…of longing.  I remember these nights because I stand in a long line of people who have waited eagerly for God, who have waited for his coming.  And as I sit here writing this post, I am waiting once again.  For the God made flesh.  For the One who was promised.  For the bringer of hope.  For the One who will end all our pain.  I am waiting…

Come, Thou long expected Jesus
Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us,
Let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel’s Strength and Consolation,
Hope of all the earth Thou art;
Dear Desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.

Come, Lord Jesus, come….

(this is part of my series on advent, christmas and other such things. if you’d like to contribute, please comment below)

several years ago, my life shifted dramatically. in the midst of the emotional debris from that shift, mike stepped in and offered hope; that hope has since taken the form of the onion. mike and his sweet family are key parts of my life here in waco and i cannot imagine it without them. the only one of my close favorites who is in full-time vocational ministry, mike always offers valuable insights from that section of his life which i am grateful for. he doesn’t blog, but after reading this entry, i am sure you will join me in encouraging him to!

The scene is more lowly than idyllic.  A child has been born and wrapped in cloth.  He lies in a manger because no guest room can be found.  We’ve heard the story so many times that we can miss the stark backwardness of it all.  The Son of God should have come in trappings of greatness.  He should have been born to privilege.  Yet he spends the first night of his human life lying in a feeding trough.

There is a scandal of lowliness in the nativity.

But the scandal goes deeper than this.  The child is born in low estate, but the true wonder of the nativity is found in the birth itself.  The One through whom and for whom all things were made has become a part of his creation.  The Infinite has taken on finite existence.  The One who sustains all things by his powerful word has come completely dependent on the sustenance of another.  God the Son has taken on human flesh and become the Son of man.  And on this night and many to follow, he lies helpless and dependent in the frail existence of a newborn child.

There is also a scandal of humanness to be found.

This is the force of the incarnation.  The great has become small.  The infinite finite.  The uncontainable contained.  The Apostle Paul put it like this: For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich. (2 Cor. 8:9, NIV)

Augustine waxed poetic on the same theme: He lies in a manger, but contains the world. He feeds at the breast, but also feeds the angels. He is wrapped in swaddling clothes, but vests us with immortality. He found no place in the inn, but makes for Himself a temple in the hearts of believers. In order that weakness might become strong, strength became weak. (Sermon 190 3, 4)

The rich has become poor.  The strong has become weak.  And all this that we might become rich and strong through him.

We are used to speaking of the love that led Jesus to the cross.

Perhaps we should also speak of the love that led him to his birth.

In the nativity, God the Son has poured himself out and taken human form, and in this we see the nature of God on display.  Jesus, “Who being in very nature God, did not consider his equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.” (Phil. 2:6-7, NIV)  It is in the nature of God to pour himself on behalf of others, and though it is scandalous to us, it is natural to him.  Such is the wonder of the God we serve.  Such is the splendor of a newborn baby who bears the weight of the world.  Such is the beauty of Christmas.

(this is part of my series of guest posts on advent, christmas and other such things. if you want to contribute, please comment below)

i have known emmy for a long time. as in, i used to babysit for her and her fantastic brother long time. over the years, i have had the privilege of watching her grow and journeying with her and she is legitimately one of my favorite people on earth. she is also always one of my favorite parts of visits to bucks county. we share a love of harry potter, helping people become healthy creatures and food. emmy also writes a great blog on beauty that i’ve talked about before on here, but here’s another link: a lady in love.

In Defense of Crafts: Handmade Christmas 2010

My boyfriend was sitting at his desk perusing online shopping websites when he called over to me while I was half asleep on his bed,

“Em, what does your brother want for Christmas?”

Without skipping a beat I whispered back:

“Justice.”

It’s true—if you were to ask my brother Peter what he most wanted for Christmas his answer would be something along the lines of “clean drinking water for all children,” “to free a slave,” “to ban Glenn Beck from public life”—oh wait that’s all I want for Christmas.  Anyway… the point is that my brother has a huge heart and is so much better than seeing the bigger picture than I am.

Inspired by my brother’s ability to see the bigger picture I have committed to celebrate Christmas in a healthier, more responsible way by making as many handmade gifts as possible.

I know that making a lot of your gifts sounds really intimidating especially during the super busy holiday season but let me try to convince you that making your gifts will make your holiday season more jolly.

Making your gifts keeps you away from the angry crowds. Of course it’s impossible to avoid all crowds—the shoppers in JoAnn’s, Michaels and Hobby Lobby can be just as unruly as the mom’s in JC Penny’s—but the craft stores usually aren’t as hustle & bustle-y.

Making your gifts fosters a spirit of thanksgiving.  Ironically handmade presents often cost more in the end than their assembled-in-China counterparts but I think that the important difference between the two is that taking time to hand make gifts gives you time to think about the person you are giving the gift to.  It’s impossible not to think about the time you Dad waited in line for 6 hours at Toys’R’Us to get you a Furbee when you are 3 hours into making him a snoopy ornament.  You’ll have plenty of time to think about all the wonderful things your significant other has done for you over the last year while assembling an awesome scrapbook.  And by the time you lay the last ceramic tile on that jewelry box you made your best friend you’ll have already thought about that time she was on the phone with you til 4 am listening to you cry over that guy who works at Starbucks and the time she picked you up when you had a flat tire.

Making your gifts ignites your creativity. It’s the most beautiful and inspirational time of the year but so many of us miss out on incorporating that beauty into our lives—crafting your gifts allows you to appreciate the beauty of the holiday as well as develop your creativity and skills.

Making your gifts gives you an outlet for holiday stress. It’s no secret that the holidays can be stressful—family gatherings, shopping, sleet, dark nights and cold mornings can often bring out the worst in people so finding a way to de-stress around this time of the year is essential.  Escaping is about as important a part of the holidays as Santa and plastic Jesus lawn ornaments so take some justifiable alone time to work on your handmade gifts—people can’t argue with your disappearance if they know you are working on a present for them  Also, I should point out that crafting is a cathartic experience for most (as long as they set do-able goals and crafting boundaries for themselves).  Cutting, gluing, sowing, stapling, and designing although sometimes tedious can restore a sense of calm and purpose which is what we are all striving for during the holidays!

Making your gifts makes you a more mindful consumer. When I decided to make most of my presents this year I felt a bit… guilty.  I thought that everyone would resent my handmade gifts or think that I was cheap but then I asked myself “What would a handmade gift mean to me?  Would I be happy accepting a handmade present?”  and the answer was “YES!” and a resounding “YES!” The more I thought about it the more I came to realize that I have everything I could ever really need from a consumer’s standpoint—most of us do.  So rather than racking my brain trying to figure out what to get a person who already has everything I decided it was ok to give them something that only I could ever give them-something I handmade.

Anyway, I hope that you have a holiday filled with inspiration, thanksgiving and joy!

xo

Em

(this is part of my advent series of guest posts. if you’d like to participate, please comment below)

tiffani and i met on the second floor of the harris house when we both worked for baylor university’s department of spiritual life (then called ‘university ministries’). after adventuring through kenya and a subequent year in waco, tiff moved to LA to work on a PhD at UCLA. so clearly, she’s got some game. tiff is a fellow pop-culture enthusiast who shares my passion for developing students into the best version of themselves. she blogs at tiff’s life now.

“Advent is about anticipating the birth of Christ. It’s about longing, desire, that which is yet to come. That which isn’t here yet. And so we wait, expectantly. Together. With an ache. Because all is not right. Something is missing.” Rob Bell

When I was younger, I was an optimist. Most of the time, I still am. But let’s face it, if I were to be honest, sometimes it’s really hard to have hope. I don’t mean the easy kind of “I hope it snows,” “I hope I pass this class,” or “I hope I make it to the party on-time.” I mean the hard kind of hope, the “I hope this treatment works,” “I hope that this is the year I meet my husband,” or “I hope this time I can carry this baby full-term” kind of hope. The hope that after a while feels foolish and futile.

At least it is hard for me.

Most of the year, I spend my prayer time with my face screwed up in concentration, wrestling with God for these hopes I have – for myself and for my friends and family, and often for people I’ve never met. I can acknowledge that in the last three years, I’ve tried to will the Lord to do things by force of will, rather than trusting in His faithfulness.

I guess that is why I look so forward to Advent. Most of the year, I am battling against the cynicism of the world. (cue Jerry Maguire quote in brain) The world says that my hopes don’t really matter much in the big scheme of things. The world says that God is too busy to care about my little hopes. The world shouts loudly that if God doesn’t care enough to establish peace in the Middle East or Korea, or doesn’t end the genocide in the Sudan, then he certainly doesn’t care enough to intervene in the paltry little needs of my life.

And most of the people in the world who are shouting these things have been disappointed along the way – they have felt the sting of un-met, unfulfilled hope. I can so totally relate. That is why Advent is so important to me.

Each December, I get a reminder that God has not forgotten, that God does care, that God did work in the past and will work in the future – and is working now. Each December, the binding that squeezes my heart as I think about being 36 and single and childless loosens a bit, and I can breathe as I remember that God is faithful, that God loves. Each December, I remember that my hope is not futile, but expectant, that I wait – despite the ache in my heart – for God to enter in, knowing He will.

Rob Bell says that Advent whispers to us in the darkness of the world, “The not yet will be worth it.”

Each Advent season, I remember that there will be an answer for the hopes of my heart. I remember that the God of the Universe (and beyond!) entered into this world, because he cared. I remember that this God did not enter in the way that was expected by anyone, and thus in my expectant hope, I can release my expectations for the ways in which he will care for me – I can prepare to be surprised. Each advent, I am renewed in my hopes for myself, my family, my friends, and those far and wide who I have never met (nor ever will meet).

It is this renewal, during the Advent season, which helps me to hope during the rest of the year. It is this remembering that causes me to get from December to December – with the same hopes in my heart – even after only having gone on one date this year. It is the confidence in God’s caring, regained during Advent, that allows me to remember that no matter where I am or what life stage I’m in, God has not forgotten me and I can be fully present and full of joy in that place – despite the fact that something is missing.

Finally, during Advent, the longings of my heart, which are pushed down and aside to make way for the rest of my life all through the year, these longings are let loose and I can rest in them, despite the ache, rest in expectant excitement of what is going to come. And in knowing that whatever it is – it is going to be good.

(this is a part of my series on advent. if you’d like to contribute, comment below.)

i first met bethany in the fall of 2001, when we were but freshman in college. over the next four years and some particularly ridiculous nicknames, she became a deep and true part of my life. when i moved to waringstown, bethany was my most faithful pen pal and i squealed with joy when one of her decorated envelopes dropped through my post box. since my return to the states our lives have moved in very different directions, but her wisdom and grace still reign strong in my life. we both love music and musicals, gilmore girls and adventure.

photo credit: gjeewaytee on and off

We have reached the first weekend in December, and already the verbal wishes are flying: “Merry Christmas,” “Happy New Year,” “Have a joy-filled holiday,” etc. The radio stations are blaring “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas,” and every window display has a grinning Santa. While I would never wish anyone a miserable Christmas, I feel that sometimes the worldly expectation of happiness overshadows our ability to celebrate the season of Advent, which is a time of preparation. We are preparing for the joyful celebration of the birth of Christ, but it doesn’t mean that we must or should be exclusively happy during the time of preparation.

The Israelites certainly didn’t feel constant happiness while they waited for the Messiah. Their aching cries for deliverance can be heard over and over in the Old Testament and even in our familiar Christmas carols (“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel”). And many people today have difficulty commanding themselves to be happy during the month of December while they suffer from depression, eating disorders, addictions, abuse, and the loss of loved ones.

A year ago at this time, my husband and I were trying for our second child. I was certain to the depths of my soul that, even though we hadn’t had a positive pregnancy test yet, we would be a family of four by the following Christmas. When we woke up on Christmas morning, Tim leaned over and whispered to my stomach, “Merry Christmas, baby.” The positive pregnancy test came a few days later, but our joy lasted less than two weeks due to an early miscarriage. God has since blessed us with the gift of another pregnancy, but for me the coming of this season has also brought feelings of pain and loss; last December, I was expecting not only baby Jesus, but my own baby as well. God has done miraculous work in my heart since that time, and I have been able to minister to other women who have lost children, but the preparation of my heart for His work is not always easy, and it is certainly not always happy.

Thus far Advent has been, for me, a time of joy and reverence rather than happiness.  My favorite definition for reverence is “profound, adoring, awed, respect.” Reverence for Joseph as he trusted God to care for a child that wasn’t “his”; reverence for Mary as she traveled long miles and delivered her baby in a barn, far away from her family; reverence for the wise men who had such a sure faith that they not only traveled to seek the King but had the depth of understanding to know what gifts would suit Him best. And above all of this, reverence for a God who would send His Son into the world to walk beside us in the midst of pain, loss, poverty, and longing in order to bring us closer to Himself.

Other than Christ’s return, there can be no greater joy than His coming, so I WILL wish you a very merry Christmas. However, I will also wish that you feel the level of adoration that Mary felt as she held her newborn baby for the first time and the awe of the shepherds as throngs of angels fill the sky. This Christmas, may you be filled with reverence.

“This Flower, whose fragrance tender, with sweetness fills the air,
Dispels with glorious splendor the darkness everywhere;
True man, yet very God, from sin and death He saves us
And lightens every load.”

This article is a great example of yet another reason to love Hogwarts. It speaks about “six awesome women” of the Harry Potter season and gives excellent examples of how the characters in Rowling’s novels are fully formed characters.

There have been several reports over the past few years about the sad lack of positive female characters for adolescent girls to pattern their lives after. Katniss Everdeen of the Hunger Games series and Lisbeth Salander of the Millenium triology are often held as examples of a change in the right direction, but I want to offer some caveats on those two. While they are fully realized characters, they both also exist in specific worlds. Lisbeth is the victim of unspeakable abuse and Katniss lives in a dystopian world where children are killed for sport. While there are elements of both of their worlds in the worlds of most women, they are worlds removed at the same time.

Molly and Ginny Weasely, Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall; these are female characters which seem to exist in both magic and muggle worlds. Bravery, wisdom, wit and intelligence are deeply valued. The fierce protection with which Molly treats her children and yet allows them to discover their own personhood – I see that in so many mothers in my life. The dedication and passion Hermione has in her personal relationships and her school work – I see that in so many of my friends.

I’ve had several friends begin the Harry Potter journey in the past few weeks and I have been thinking about the wonders of that world a lot. Thus, the post.

(this is the first in my series of guest posts on advent. if you’d like to participate, comment on this post.)

my friend suzanne is brilliant. no, really. she is. this is evidenced not only by the fact that she graduated as the truett female student of the year, but also by the fact she is working on a master’s degree at oxford university (perhaps you’ve heard of it.) we met years ago in a fairly dysfunctional life-group and then slowly began to do life together in beautiful ways. a founding member of the onion, there is a definitive suzanne-shaped hole in our waco lives. she blogs at aurora’s torch.

The morning air is cold today. So cold, it crystallizes into foggy puffs at every exhale. The snow drifts slowly to the ground and the lights of the observatory create a yellow haze in the gray dawning light. It is quiet and I smile as I hear the crunch of the snow under my boots. They had predicted a cold winter, and as assumed the unseasonably warm autumn gave way into a frigid winter with snow blanketing the entire country, grinding transportation to a halt and delaying flights. Nevertheless, there is something about a first snowfall that clings to my mind and heart. Things are quiet. Life seems to slow down for just an instant and with wonder I loose myself in the peaceful respite I find in the silently falling snow.

With similar awe I find myself standing quietly in advent this year. The expectant hope of God becoming human settles in my thoughts with a comfort and nearness I have not felt in many years. For the first time in a long time, I can feel God funnelling all the brilliance and glory into this one single moment and all I can do is stand in wonder. God with us. The power of something new, of something that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, but hovers at the horizon of my hope makes life slow and the full power of the event sweep over my soul. God drawing near; God wearing skin; God walking among us.

The magnitude of this should be the impact of an avalanche whiting out my mind, but it is not violent or soul shattering this season. Instead the idea of God with us is a quiet, peace filled moment, like experiencing a first snowfall, silently watching unique little miracles pile up, covering the withered life of the past. For me, this advent I am experiencing the daily miracles of hope pile up, covering the withered life of my past. The dead dreams and hopes, the unmet expectations and assumptions, the horror and sadness, the loss and pain, the disillusionment and disappointment are quietly covered in the silently falling snow of incarnated hope. Things look beautiful again, clean, innocent, happy. I find myself standing quietly in advent with hope drifting into my heart, knowing that God is restoring a battered faith and creating new life. My cynicism and bitterness lessen daily as I remember how to hope and how to embrace that hope.

1. Rob Bell’s Thoughts on Advent. This popped up this morning on Twitter (thank you, Cara Jane) and I love the themes of Spirit and hope which are woven through. Now that papers are finished and the semester is winding down, I am fully attempting to prepare my soul for advent and am thankful to Rob for the help.

2. This one is double-edged, because I am thankful for the last day of classes today, but it does also mean that I have completed my concentration. I am going to miss sitting around the table and discussing missions, purpose and eccelsiology so, so much. And yes, I have the honor of doing an independent study with Dr. Stroope next semester, but it will not be the same. An era has ended.

3. Glee previews! Specifically, the one for “Baby, It’s Cold Outside”. Chris Colfer and Darren Criss’ version of this fantastic song has been on constant repeat since I first heard it a few weeks ago and so when they leaked the video clips, well, I got pretty excited.

4. Lucas’ definition of mission, discipleship and purpose on his blog.

5. The BBC’s brilliant update of the residents of 221B Baker Street, Sherlock, is possibly the best thing they’ve produced in a while. So well done and culturally updated. Thank you, Netflix, for this little gift via the mail.