No one has ever regarded the First of January with indifference. ~Charles Lamb from “New Year’s Eve”
Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse… ~T.S. Eliot from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”
This New Year’s Day, like so many that have come before, arrived with the ordinary and annoying hour-long revelry of gunshots and fireworks across our rural neighborhood.
Yet this time a new year enters under a cloud: a lingering odor remains from the mess our nation made of 2025.
Like a dog rolling in something stinky simply because it is there, 2026 may look squeaky clean but reeks of what has come before. It can’t be ignored and, even brand spanking new, this year is already badly in need of a bath.
Like a dog, we like what is familiar and comfortable, even if that means we roll about where we shouldn’t, still smelling like yesterday, if not last year.
Time leads irrevocably forward, with us in tow. There is no turning back or staying stubbornly with how things used to be. Perhaps this new year we shower off the mud, stay clear of the stinky stuff in the headlines, and take time to look at all things with new eyes.
Do we dare disturb the universe?
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Whatever harm I may have done In all my life in all your wide creation If I cannot repair it I beg you to repair it,
And then there are all the wounded The poor the deaf the lonely and the old Whom I have roughly dismissed As if I were not one of them. Where I have wronged them by it And cannot make amends I ask you To comfort them to overflowing,
And where there are lives I may have withered around me, Or lives of strangers far or near That I’ve destroyed in blind complicity, And if I cannot find them Or have no way to serve them,
Remember them. I beg you to remember them
When winter is over And all your unimaginable promises Burst into song on death’s bare branches. ~Anne Porter “A Short Testament” from Living Things.
Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God. ~Corrie ten Boom from Clippings from My Notebook
Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next. ~Frederick Buechnerfrom Beyond Words
While this end of the year’s darkness lingers, beginning too early and lasting too late, I find myself hiding in my own wintry soul, knowing I have too often failed to do what is needed when it is needed.
I tend to look inward when I need to focus outside myself. I muffle my ears to stifle supplicating voices. I turn away rather than meet a stranger’s gaze.
I appeal to our known God when facing the unknown: He knows my darkness needs His Light. He unimaginably promises buds of hope and warmth and color and fruit will arise from my barest branches.
He brings me forth out of hiding, to be impossibly transformed.
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A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more. Matthew 2:18 and Jeremiah 31:15
…as you sit beneath your beautifully decorated tree, eat the rich food of celebration, and laugh with your loved ones, you must not let yourself forget the horror and violence at the beginning and end of the Christmas story. The story begins with the horrible slaughter of children and ends with the violent murder of the Son of God. The slaughter depicts how much the earth needs grace. The murder is the moment when that grace is given.
Look into that manger representing a new life and see the One who came to die. Hear the angels’ celebratory song and remember that sad death would be the only way that peace would be given. Look at your tree and remember another tree – one not decorated with shining ornaments, but stained with the blood of God.
As you celebrate, remember that the pathway to your celebration was the death of the One you celebrate, and be thankful. ~Paul Tripp
We think of him as safe beneath the steeple, Or cosy in a crib beside the font, But he is with a million displaced people On the long road of weariness and want.
For even as we sing our final carol His family is up and on that road, Fleeing the wrath of someone else’s quarrel, Glancing behind and shouldering their load.
Whilst Herod rages still from his dark tower Christ clings to Mary, fingers tightly curled, The lambs are slaughtered by the men of power, And death squads spread their curse across the world.
But every Herod dies, and comes alone To stand before the Lamb upon the throne. ~Malcolm Guite “Refugee”
When Christ was born in Bethlehem, Fair peace on earth to bring, In lowly state of love He came To be the children’s King.
And round Him, then, a holy band Of children blest was born, Fair guardians of His throne to stand Attendant night and morn.
And unto them this grace was giv’n A Saviour’s name to own, And die for Him Who out of Heav’n Had found on earth a throne.
O blessèd babes of Bethlehem, Who died to save our King, Ye share the martyrs’ diadem, And in their anthem sing!
Your lips, on earth that never spake, Now sound th’eternal word; And in the courts of love ye make Your children’s voices heard.
Lord Jesus Christ, eternal Child, Make Thou our childhood Thine; That we with Thee the meek and mild May share the love divine. ~Laurence Houseman “The Holy Innocents”
There is no consolation for families of those children lost to death too soon: a rogue king’s slaughter of innocents.
And still today – so much intentional death of the young, to inflict the most pain, lands flooded with blood, across disputed borders and faith.
Arms ache through centuries with the emptiness of grief, beds and pillows lie cold and unused, hugs never to come again.
There is no consolation for loss then or now; only mourning and great weeping, sobbing that wrings dry every human cell,
leaving only dust behind: our beginning and, without salvation, our end.
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And in despair I bowed my head; “There is no peace on earth,” I said; “For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men.” ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellowfrom Christmas Bells
When the song of the angels is stilled, When the star in the sky is gone, When the kings and princes are home, When the shepherds are back with their flock, The work of Christmas begins: To find the lost, To heal the broken, To feed the hungry, To release the prisoner, To rebuild the nations, To bring peace among others, To make music in the heart. ~Howard Thurman “The Work of Christmas”
The core truth of Christ’s birth is that when God became man, he entered the world in a posture of extreme humility and extreme vulnerability, and that posture never changed.
Jesus, God made flesh, spent his life as a carpenter and an itinerant preacher. He proved so vulnerable that he was easily executed by the Roman Empire, with only the tiniest band of followers still clinging to their faith.
And if we who call ourselves Christians are to truly imitate Christ, then shouldn’t we also place little regard on our own worldly status? Jesus told us to take up our own cross, not to nail others to that terrible tree. Yes, Christ is King, but of a very different kind of kingdom, where the first are last, where you love your enemies, where you bless those who persecute you, and where you sacrifice to serve your neighbor. ~David French from Christianity is a Dangerous Faith in the New York TImes -12/21/25
Let the stable still astonish; Straw – dirt floor, dull eyes, Dusty flanks of donkeys, oxen; Crumbling, crooked walls; No bed to carry that pain, And then, the child, Rag-wrapped, laid to cry In a trough. Who would have chosen this? Who would have said: “Yes, Let the God of all the heavens and earth Be born here, in this place?” Who but the same God Who stands in the darker, fouler rooms Of our hearts And says, “Yes, Let the God of Heaven and Earth Be born here – In this place. ~Leslie Leyland Fields “Let the Stable Still Astonish”
During Advent, I am guilty of nostalgia and sentiment, invoking the gentle bedtime story of that silent night, with the infant napping away in a hay-filled manger, His devoted parents hovering, the humble shepherds peering in the stable door.
All is calm. All is bright.
Yet no – this is not a sentimental story. It is astonishing.
God never sleeps.
This is no gentle bedtime story: – a teenage mother gives birth in a smelly cave among domestic animals, with no alternative but to lay her baby in a rough feed trough.
– the heavenly host appears to shepherds – the lowest of the low in society – shouting and singing glories which causes terror.
– Herod’s response to the news that a Messiah had been born is to kill a legion of male children whose parents undoubtedly begged for mercy, clinging to their about-to-be murdered sons.
– a family’s flight to Egypt as refugees seeking asylum so their son would not be yet another victim of Herod.
– Jesus grows up to become itinerant and homeless, tempted while fasting in the wilderness, owns nothing, rejected by His own people, betrayed by His disciples, sentenced to death by acclamation before Pilate, tortured, hung on a cross until He gave up his spirit.
– Jesus understood He was not of this world. He knew the power that originally brought him to earth as a helpless infant lying in an unforgiving stone trough would eventually move the stone covering His tomb.
He would be sacrificed, He would die and rise again, He would return again as King of all nations.
When I hear skeptics scoff at Christianity as a “crutch for the weak”, they underestimate the courage it takes to walk into church each week admitting we are a desperate people seeking rescue. We cling to the life preserver found in the Word, hanging on for dear life. It is only because of grace that we survive the tempests of temptation, shame, guilt and self-doubt to worship an all-knowing God who is not dead and who never ever sleeps.
This bedtime story is not for the faint of heart. It is meant to astonish. The Power invoked created the very dust we are made of, and breathed His life into us.
So be not afraid: the wrong shall fail the Right prevail. He chose this place to be among us. Peace on earth, good-will to men.
The grass withers, the flower fades, But the word of our God stands forever. Isaiah 40:8
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“Thin places,” the Celts call this space, Both seen and unseen, Where the door between the world And the next is cracked open for a moment And the light is not all on the other side. God shaped space. Holy. ~Sharlande Sledge
What if you slept And what if In your sleep You dreamed And what if In your dream You went to heaven And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower And what if When you awoke You had that flower in your hand Ah, what then? ~Samuel Coleridge “What if you slept”
Advent does not train us to look away from suffering. No, it gives us the strength with which to face it. A cup of water. A stone on which to rest. A star to guide us. And the essential hope to know that somewhere, a door is opening.
Advent is how we survive, for to live in Advent is to root ourselves in the essential gravity of things, to know that love and goodness are always stronger than whatever seeks to defeat them. We train our eyes on the small and know that it matters. A flower. A kind word. A child in the manger. That is the way that God breaks through the void. ~Stephanie Saldaña“Living on Manger Street”
I know for a while again, the health of self-forgetfulness, looking out at the sky through a notch in the valley side, the black woods wintry on the hills, small clouds at sunset passing across. And I know that this is one of the thresholds between Earth and Heaven, from which I may even step forth from myself and be free. ~ Wendell Berry, Sabbaths 2000
The partition thins between this world and the world to come, or the next or the other world. On the other side of the partition the dead are living. As one grows older some of the dead grow more alive, more essentially themselves. One loves them more. As the next world grows more distinct, this one becomes, not more vague, but more strange. ~Wendell Berry “New Poems”
photo by Nate Gibson
“Thin places,” the Celts call this space, Both seen and unseen, Where the door between the world And the next is cracked open for a moment And the light is not all on the other side. God shaped space. Holy. ~Sharlande Sledge
Ah, what then?
Home is not nearly big enough for heaven to dwell. I must content myself with this visit to the thin edge, peering through the open door, and waiting until invited to come inside.
My 2025 Advent theme: On the threshold between day and night
On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord— with no distinction between day and night. When evening comes, there will be light. Zechariah 14:6-7
So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid. ~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk
In the stillness of a church where candles glow, In the softness of a fall of fresh white snow, In the brightness of the stars hat shine this night, In the calmness of a pool of healing light, In the clearness of a choir that softly sings, In the oneness of a hush of angels’ wings, In the mildness of a night by stable bare, In the quietness of a lull near cradle fair, There’s a patience as we wait for a new morn, And the presence of a child soon to be born. ~Sally Beamish “In the Stillness”
On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there,and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.”
“Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My hour has not yet come.”
His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”
Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons.
Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water”; so they filled them to the brim.
Then he told them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.”
They did so, and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom asideand said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”
What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.
After this he went down to Capernaum with his mother and brothers and his disciples. There they stayed for a few days. John 2: 1-12
St. John tells how, at Cana’s wedding feast, The water-pots poured wine in such amount That by his sober count There were a hundred gallons at the least.
It made no earthly sense, unless to show How whatsoever love elects to bless Brims to a sweet excess That can without depletion overflow.
Which is to say that what love sees is true; That this world’s fullness is not made but found. Life hungers to abound And pour its plenty out for such as you. ~Richard Wilbur from “A Wedding Toast”
In sleep his infant mouth works in and out. He is so new, his silk skin has not yet been roughed by plane and wooden beam nor, so far, has he had to deal with human doubt.
He is in a dream of nipple found, of blue-white milk, of curving skin and, pulsing in his ear, the inner throb of a warm heart’s repeated sound.
His only memories float from fluid space. So new he has not pounded nails, hung a door broken bread, felt rebuff, bent to the lash, wept for the sad heart of the human race. ~Luci Shaw “Kenosis”from Waiting on the Word
Experiencing the present purely is being emptied and hollow; you catch grace as a man fills his cup under a waterfall. ~Annie Dillard from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek
The world is filled, and filled with the Absolute.To see this is to be made free. ~Pierre Teilhard de Chardin from Hymn of the Universe
My mouth will utter praise of the Lord, of the Lord through whom all things have been made and who has been made amidst all things; who is the Revealer of His Father, Creator of His Mother; who is the Son of God from His Father without a mother, the Son of Man through His mother without a father.
He is as great as the Day of Angels, and as small as a day in the life of men; He is the Word of God before all ages, and the Word made flesh at the destined time. Maker of the sun, He is made beneath the sun.
In His Father He abides; from His mother He goes forth. Creator of heaven and earth, under the heavens He was born upon earth.
Wise beyond all speech, as a speechless child, He is wise. Filling the whole world, He lies in a manger. Ruling the stars, He nurses at His mother’s breast. He is great in the form of God and small in the form of a servant, so much so that His greatness is not diminished by His smallness, nor His smallness concealed by His greatness. ~St. Augustine from Exposition on Psalm 148
How empty was the world before Christ!
From Mary’s untouched womb to Joseph’s futile search for a place to sleep in Bethlehem, to the shepherds’ dismal existence on the hillsides, to Simeon’s arms aching to hold the Messiah, to Anna’s long wait in the temple, to the dregs left in the wedding casks of wine.
In a million ways, seen and unseen, the empty spaces are filled, the hunger sated, the thirst quenched, the rest assured. He joined with us in celebration so we shall never lack again.
He is wedded to us–all is fulfilled, someday to be filled fully.
I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year or so. Each week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.
My 2025 Advent theme: On the threshold between day and night
On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord— with no distinction between day and night. When evening comes, there will be light. Zechariah 14:6-7
So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid. ~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk
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The next day again John was standing with two of his disciples,and he looked at Jesus as he walked by and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God!”
The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. Jesus turned and saw them following and said to them, “What are you seeking?” And they said to him, “Rabbi” (which means Teacher), “where are you staying?”
He said to them, “Come and you will see.” So they came and saw where he was staying, and they stayed with him that day, for it was about the tenth hour.
One of the two who heard John speak and followed Jesus was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his own brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which means Christ).He brought him to Jesus. Jesus looked at him and said, “You are Simon the son of John. You shall be called Cephas” (which means Peter).
The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.”Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter.Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him of whom Moses in the Law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?”
Philip said to him, “Come and see.”
Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him and said of him, “Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael said to him, “How do you know me?” Jesus answered him, “Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Nathanael answered him, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered him, “Because I said to you, ‘I saw you under the fig tree,’ do you believe? You will see greater things than these.” And he said to him, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.” John 1:35-51
I never knew what was going on.
He would say, “Let’s go,” and we would follow. “Follow” was his word.
And we would. Fools we were to let that take us all that way. Why we did to this day
I don’t know. Look how it ended. Look what it became. But what did we have
to stay for? Nothing. There wasn’t much work. Nothing much to do. There were no
stories left. Bread. Fish. So we ended up with more bread and fish. But we did find
stories and stories. Well, what else is there? I never did much along the way. Look it up…
I will say, though, that it was his words. Words!
Imagine. Words had never done what his did. I’d listen, and I wasn’t much of a listener. Then
later I would try to make sense of them. I couldn’t. But I could feel them. And maybe that was it, how
they got inside you and made you wonder and wrinkle. They got in my brain’s garden and made it seem like
the roots were above ground and all the flowers and vegetables, all the nourishing, were now below…
See? See how hard it is to explain this stuff? You just started seeing everything with a
new mind. You began to be drawn to a whole new world, and it was a world.
You might say, okay, whatever, and yet those words did become flesh, my flesh. And my flesh, my body, held
the kingdom of God, and if it’s a place that’s a place for children, then most of what I know really doesn’t matter.
Labor doesn’t, and money, and reason, and, well, you go make a list. He’d get me so confused. And then we’d
head off worrying about how we would eat and where we’d sleep. Our feet were filthy. My God, we were always
filthy. We stank. And then he’d go and point at birds or stalks of grain, even stop and have us kneel before a flower,
and then he’d smile. That haunts me still. That smile. And then he died. He brought out hate, not love. He had
a terrifying sense of justice. Nothing he said or did was impossible. Maybe that was it. It was all possible. ~Jack Ridl from “Bartholomew: Disciple”
What are you seeking? What are you looking for in your life?
Jesus asks the new disciples because He needs to know whether they are expecting a wise rabbi/teacher, or a prophesied Messiah come to change the world, or a mighty king who will liberate them from political oppression.
No matter what our expectation is, Jesus asks that we come to see what he is doing, following him to witness what will happen as he speaks, allowing his words to become our new flesh and skin.
He takes us to the threshold of heaven and throws the gate wide open. Nothing he says or does is impossible.
He shows us what is possible simply by asking us what we hope for.
I am reading slowly through the words in the Book of John over the next year or so. Each week, I will invite you to “come and see” what those words might mean as we explore His promises together.
My 2025 Advent theme: On the threshold between day and night
On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord— with no distinction between day and night. When evening comes, there will be light. Zechariah 14:6-7
So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid. ~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk
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December rains have arrived in torrents in the Pacific Northwest, swept in with widespread regional floods and wind, leaving a mess of sorrow and silt in its wake.
There is still much to be thankful for despite the powerlessness, pain of loss and effort of recovery. December is a frequent reminder of our fragility and need for shelter from the storms of life.
Blown off course, swept away, drenched to the marrow, pining for the light lost until solstice, we hunker down in place, burrowing in for a dark wet winter.
It is coming, this veil of tears. It is coming, these night winds blowing away our shield and protection. It is coming, these rushing waters, taking us nowhere we wish to go. It is coming, this new moon forgetting how to shine.
Even so. Our Light arrived powered from within, ignited and irrepressible, fueled by an overflowing abundance of gentle loving and tender mercies.
Love spills like a flood from His broken Incarnate Heart, promising the world a rainbow of undeserved Grace.
AI image created for this post
My 2025 Advent theme: On the threshold between day and night
On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord— with no distinction between day and night. When evening comes, there will be light. Zechariah 14:6-7
So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid. ~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk
Lyrics: Could’ve come like a mighty storm with all the strength of a hurricane You could’ve come like a forest fire with the power of heaven in your flame
But you came like a winter snow quiet and soft and slow Falling from the sky in the night to the earth below
Could’ve swept in like a tidal wave or an ocean to ravish our hearts You could have come through like a roaring flood to wipe away the things we’ve scarred
No, your voice wasn’t in a bush burning No, your voice wasn’t in a rushing wind It was still, it was small, it was hidden by Audrey Assad
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What seemed to be the end proved to be the beginning… Suddenly a wall becomes a gate. ~Henri Nouwen from Gracias! A Letter of Consolation
Heaven in Ordinary~ Because high heaven made itself so low That I might glimpse it through a stable door, Or hear it bless me through a hammer blow, And call me through the voices of the poor, Unbidden now, its hidden light breaks through Amidst the clutter of the every day, Illuminating things I thought I knew, Whose dark glass brightens, even as I pray. Then this world’s walls no longer stay my eyes, A veil is lifted likewise from my heart, The moment holds me in its strange surprise, The gates of paradise are drawn apart, I see his tree, with blossom on its bough, And nothing can be ordinary now. ~Malcolm Guite from “After Prayer”
As Christians we do not believe in walls, but that life lies open before us; that the gate can always be unbarred; that there is no final abandonment or desertion. We do not believe that it can ever be “too late.”
We believe that the world is full of doors that can be opened. Between us and others. Between the people around us. Between today and tomorrow. Our own inner person can be unlocked too: even within our own selves, there are doors that need to be opened.
If we open them and enter, we can unlock ourselves, too, and so await whatever is coming to free us and make us whole. ~ Jörg Zink from “Doors to the Feast”
What we call the beginning is often the end And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.
We shall not cease from exploration And the end of all our exploring Will be to arrive where we started And know the place for the first time. Through the unknown, unremembered gate When the last of earth left to discover Is that which was the beginning; ~T.S. Eliot from “Little Gidding” The Four Quartets
We stand on the threshold outside the gate, incapable of opening it ourselves, watching as God Himself throws it open wide.
We can choose to enter this unknown unremembered gate into the endless length of days, or we choose to remain on the outside, lingering in the familiar confines of what we know, though unless we step through at His invitation, eventually it will end, and we with it.
There we shall rest and we shall see; we shall see and we shall love; we shall love and we shall praise. Behold what shall be in the end and shall not end. ~Augustine of Hippo
My 2025 Advent theme: On the threshold between day and night
On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord— with no distinction between day and night. When evening comes, there will be light. Zechariah 14:6-7
So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid. ~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk
TEXT O salutaris hostia, Quæ cæli pandis ostium: Bella premunt hostilia, Da robur, fer auxilium. Uni trinoque Domino, Sit sempiterna gloria, Qui vitam sine termino, Nobis donet in patria. Amen.
TRANSLATION O saving victim, Who opens the gate of heaven: Hostile wars press upon us, Give strength, bring aid. To the one and triune Lord, May there be eternal glory, Who gives us life without end, In our heavenly homeland. Amen.
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When the miracle happened it was not with bright light or fire— but a farm door with the thick smell of sheep and a wind tugging at the shutters.
There was no sign the world had changed for ever or that God had taken place; just a child crying softly in a corner, and the door open, for those who came to find. ~Kenneth Steven “Nativity”
This Advent, I’m trying not to be scared of the dark. ~James K.A. Smith from “Waiting” (Image Journal)
I feel like I’m constantly aware of the world’s anguish, reminded daily in headlines and news updates. The knowledge of others’ grief and mourning, their losses and struggles, is overwhelming.
This world is a fearful place of pain and tears for so many, so much of the time. For my part, I try not to be afraid of the dark…
So who am I to write of moments of incredible encouragement and beauty, posting pictures of the latest masterpiece painted through the filtered light of sunrise and sunset, searching out and sharing the illuminated gifts that exist all around me – while people suffer?
We were certainly not created to wallow in anguish – yet here we are, trying in every way to climb our way out of the dark mess we’ve made. I am one of the countless standing on the threshold of a Light sent to diminish and overwhelm our darkest times.
Three different times, a messenger angel appeared out of the blue, saying “do not be afraid.” Zechariah had been “startled and gripped with fear,” Mary was “troubled and wondered at his words” and the shepherds were “terrified.” They were never to be the same again.
Yet the first words directly from heaven were “fear not.” My first reaction would be: there must be plenty to fear if I’m being told not to be afraid. And this world is a terrifying place, especially in the dark.
It is up to us, overwhelmed by the darkness of these times, to seek out the barn door opening enough to show a light spilling out. We are invited, troubled and doubtful, to come see what is inside.
So too then, we ourselves open: waiting, watching, longing for this glory to come. Nothing will be the same, ever again.
My 2025 Advent theme: On the threshold between day and night
On that day there will be neither sunlight nor cold, frosty darkness. It will be a unique day—a day known only to the Lord— with no distinction between day and night. When evening comes, there will be light. Zechariah 14:6-7
So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid. ~Annie Dillard in Teaching a Stone to Talk
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