Nov 28 2020 - Luke 19: 41-48

[Y]ou did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.

This is the bit in Luke’s Gospel right after Jesus comes to Jerusalem and weeps over the city, and right before he enters the Temple and overturns the tables. Bad things will happen to you, because you did not recognize God’s presence in your midst. 

True, Jesus- God incarnate- was in their midst.  But with God’s gift of the Holy Spirit, isn’t God in our midst even now? Do we recognize it? As Jesus laments, do we recognize the things that make peace? 

Tomorrow, in my tradition is the first day of the new Christian year, the first Sunday of Advent. That would make today the Christian equivalent of New Year’s Eve day.  Today, I’m going to do all those New Year’s things that we do associated with the secular calendar on Dec 31.  

Review 2020 – Phew.  What a year!  My boss announced his retirement, we elected a new Bishop to serve as my boss, and I still really enjoy the good work I get to do in the midst of all of that change.

After having previously sold our house and car and moving into a downtown apartment, 2020 brought us to buying a house and car, and moving out of downtown into a lovely neighborhood.  

My sick loved one was hospitalized seven times, for a total of over three months inpatient hospitalization.  Over a quarter of the year. They remain in the hospital but are expected to return early next week. With better meds, and the assistance of our guardianship, they appear more stable than they have been for all of 2020.  

Upon their release, they plan to travel to Seattle to stay for a few months with biological relatives. My deep hope is that this is a lovely time to reconnect with family. Previous visits have not ended well, so I’ll prepare for a quick trip to Seattle, in case we’re needed to retrieve our loved one. And hope we don’t need to. 

Plan for next year – 

My day job will remain unsettled, as my new boss and pastor begins in the end of January.  I hope to help with a smooth transition.

We will be finished with building a second floor porch on our house. It’s mostly just for my husband and I, and will serve as a sleeping porch, and an outdoor respite, when things at home are cooky. It’s feeling a little like all of those home makeovers, when the couple is reintroduced to their bedroom, renewed and peaceful.  Good space really does make a difference, especially for me. 

My loved one will start the year on an extended visit. That will either work well, and help cement a sense of independence, or it won’t. With everything we do, we will aim to be nimble, and always supportive. 

We will likely have gained guardianship, which I suspect will make caretaking immensely easier.  

So back to Jesus and God’s presence.  I’ve no doubt God’s been present this year. I don’t always have a sense of peace, but frequently. And sometimes I feel peaceful in the midst of absolute chaos.  That must be God’s presence.  Next year, I aim to continue in my daily prayer, and also bring that sense of God’s imminence throughout my day. Happy New Year’s!

Nov 20 2020 Psalm 102 & Update

But you are always the same

This psalm is a litany of sadness. My days drift away like smoke, my bones are like hot like burning coals. I lie awake and groan. I wither like grass. Woe is me. I appreciate these lamenting psalms. They feel genuine and heartfelt. The fact that these raw emotions are in our Scripture give permission for me to lament. Some days indeed, I lie awake and groan. I know that I’m not alone. The psalmist, and people throughout time and space lament. It’s part of our human experience. And in the midst of our lamentations, God is present always. As the psalmist says, You are always the same. God will hear our groans, and be with us as we weep and wither. Like a good good friend, God will sit with us in our pain, sometimes able to speak to our sorrow, sometimes just being present, but unlike a good good friend, God is present at all times, in all places. 

For me, this feels like a perfect psalm for now. I weep, or groan, and those are acceptable feelings. Between the continued pandemic, political strife, or illness, we have plenty to lament. It’s as if we’re in a season of lament. This contrasts starkly with the upcoming holiday season. Marketers are trying to convince us that the season of ho ho ho is upon us. The advertisements look more out of place and ridiculous. Just by this jewelry or those toys and all will be well. Other years we may buy that line, but this year, it seems patently impossible. 

In my faith tradition, we celebrate a season of Advent, which is the time of preparation. We generally avoid “Christmas decorations” until the Christmas season, which begins on Christmas eve and continues through Epiphany, or the 12th day of Christmas. Advent is a time of stillness, darkness, quiet, preparation. This year, it feels like it could also be a time of lamenting. But that lamenting is not without resolution. Christmas comes. God is present. God is unchanging. In the midst of our emotional, societal and physical ups and downs, God remains constant. 

This morning, I’m thinking about the volatility of our life, compared with the constancy of God’s presence and love. My loved one remains in the hospital, and while the doctors will assess our loved one’s health weekly, it’s very possible they’ll remain in the hospital through November. 

Yesterday, we spoke to our loved one on the phone because they called and said they missed us. We talked about all sorts of normal things: the movies they’re watching, what’s for dinner, possible housing options upon their release. It was a delightful, and nearly normal conversation. The good call was the result of three weeks of hospital care and pharmacology, and distance between a young adult and their parents. (What child in their early 20’s would feel like they had to live with their parents?) The call left my husband and I with a reminder of why we’re doing this, and who we’re doing it for. Our loved one remains in that body, ravaged by this insidious disease. 

That conversation contrasts starkly with the conversation we had after their previous 7 day hospitalization. Upon exiting the hospital, they demanded cigarettes, and when I asked them to drink their brimming cup of coffee down so they didn’t spill in the car, they poured the coffee on the car. On the ride home, they rode with their hand out of the window, flipping everyone the bird. But from their constant stream of vitriol, they weren’t flipping everyone else off, just my husband and me. 

Supporting this child of God is not a sprint, but rather an ultra marathon. We cannot do it or justify it based on the sweet appreciation we hope to receive from our sick loved one. Often they lament, and they have definitely more to lament than I ever will. And their lamenting looks like anger. But at its core, it’s lamenting. For us, and for them, God’s love never changes. God remains the same. It’s that constancy I depend on, in the midst of all of life’s changes. I’m reminded of a beautiful prayer that is contained in our prayer service before bedtime. 

Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the hours of this night, so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.