And the Word Became Flesh and Blood and Moved into the Neighborhood

John 1: 1 - 14

     Recently, we moved into the neighborhood.  When we arrived in Paola on August 12, we were greeted with a welcome banner, two plants—a hibiscus and a desert rose, and a basket of fruit and nuts.   Driving up and seeing that welcome banner brought tears to my eyes.  Like Sally Field accepting her Oscar, I thought “They like me . . . they really like me.”  Welcome. The blooming hibiscus plant brought beauty to our home, a beauty I had left behind in Austin for there was no room in our cars for my hibiscus plants.  Beauty.  The desert rose reminded me of Kevin’s West Texas grandparents, and thus began to connect our life here with our life and family back in Texas. Connections.  And the basket of fruit and nuts—well, it was our sustenance the first couple of days—until our microwave and pots and pans arrived with the moving van. Sustenance.

We were also welcomed with a freshly manicured yard—not because our landlords had taken care of it, but because unbeknownst to us, one of the members of this congregation had mowed it before we arrived—He had performed a service for us.  Service.  We moved into the neighborhood, and we felt oh so very welcome here. 

       Welcome, reassuring, familiar—they often go hand in hand. Our scripture today is familiar.  The gospel reading for Christmas Day in each of the lectionary years, it is also one of the birth scriptures we regularly read at our Christmas vespers.  And we heard it last night as the Christ candle was lit.  It is familiar, reassuring, poetic even.  1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.  The gospel writer John claims not only is Jesus divine, but also this divine connection with God extends all the way back to the beginning of all creation.  Jesus is the Word of God—the Word through which God spoke creation into being.  Jesus is fully divine.  Jesus is God. 

       But that is not all that John claims, for we also read . . .   14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us.  Jesus, fully divine is also Jesus, fully human. Isaiah’s claim of Emmanuel—“God with us” takes on a new dimension.  It’s not God is with us in a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night—as God was with the Hebrews fleeing from slavery in Egypt.  It’s not that God has come out of or down from God’s glory to hover around or near us.  No, God has become one of us.  In Jesus, God has entered into humanity.

        Of all the translations I read for today’s text, I like Eugene Peterson’s The Message best.  14 The Word became flesh and blood, and moved into the neighborhood.    

         Moved into the neighborhood—We lived in our home in Round Rock for 20 years.  The first couple of years we were there, the house next door fell into some disrepair through occupants that were in transition. I remember our sense of hopeful anticipation when we learned someone had bought the house and as we watched this new couple begin working on it.  There was new energy around the house after they moved in and their middle school son and his friends began playing basketball on the front driveway.  Our children were considerably younger than their son, so we didn’t connect through school or play.  Each of the couple had jobs with long hours, as did we.  Both of them commuted about an hour to work, as did Kevin. It was hard to find time when all of us were home to meet and visit each other.  So, it was a gradual process by which we got to know one another.  Working together—putting up a new, shared fence—began to open the door to each others’ lives. 

        I remember, over the years, our conversations—conversations which would begin at the neighborhood mailboxes and continue as we walked back to our homes and stood under the oak trees in our front yard with their dogs Shawnee and Cherokee running around us—conversations which would start with our admiring their Christmas light display as they put it up each Thanksgiving weekend.  In later years—Fred and Janet began to share their faith journeys, their joys with and later their disappointments in the faith community in which they worshiped.  They were very interested in Kevin’s call to seminary and his work as a chaplain.  The summer before we moved, Janet—newly retired from her job and quite skilled at home remodeling—helped me completely redo the girls’ bathroom.  Everyday for 2 weeks, she came over to our house to tear down drywall, to measure and mount greenboard, to cut and lay tile, and to texture and paint walls.  We got to know each other well as we labored together. I remember their good-byes and their prayers for us when we moved to seminary campus.  Ours had been a gradually growing, long-term neighbor relationship. 

        The Word became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood.  In Jesus, God indeed became flesh and blood and moved into the neighborhood—earth—for a gradual, long-term, life-long relationship.  Jesus lived among us—waking and sleeping, eating and drinking, healing and teaching, preaching and praying, laughing and crying—sharing life with his family and with his disciples.  That particular sharing of day-to-day life ended with his death and yet it did not end. For after his resurrection, Jesus appeared to his disciples—promising them a gift—the presence and power of the Holy Spirit.

        It is through the power of the Holy Spirit, that we continue to share our lives with Christ. It is through the power of the Holy Spirit that this gradually growing relationship with Jesus can last our whole life long. It is through the presence of the Holy Spirit, that we know we are never alone.

        During Advent we have been eagerly anticipating the coming of Christ—Christ the baby and Christ the King.  Today we celebrate the coming of Christ the baby.  We celebrate God becoming one of us and moving into the neighborhood.  We celebrate that God lived among us as flesh and blood at one point in history, and that God continues to come to us, in our day-to-day lives.  Today we celebrate the ongoing relationship we have with Jesus our neighbor.  Just as Kevin and my relationship with Fred and Janet developed through conversations and shared work, our relationship with Christ grows through conversations—prayer and study—and through shared work—mission and worship.  This relationship with Christ our neighbor, nurtures and renews us.  And while we revel in how wonderful it is to have Jesus as our neighbor, we also consider how we can welcome Jesus—in each person we meet.  How can we welcome others, and therefore Jesus, into our neighborhood—that is our community, our church, our friendships, and our lives?  In what ways will we offer Jesus—in each person that we meet—beauty, connection, sustenance, and service?  How will we be both recipients and givers of the love of Jesus, our neighbor; Jesus, our savior?  How will we welcome the Word who as flesh and blood moves into our neighborhood?

Luke 1: 26 – 38

            Have you ever felt small or unimportant? On the job, at school, within an organization you belong to, or even in your family, have you ever felt that your opinion did not matter, your contribution was not valued, or  your presence was not even noticed? Have you ever felt insignificant, as if you could not possibly make a difference?

            In today’s reading, we meet someone who, by all rights, should have felt unimportant and powerless, insignificant and small.  As a female, Mary belonged to her father until she married when she would belong to her husband. She was young in a society that valued age.  Her family held no lands, owned no wealth, and wielded no power.  She lived in a small town, in Galilee—a backward frontier state, rather than in Jerusalem, the center of Jewish culture.  She was Jewish when the Romans ruled the known world. 

By all that mattered, Mary was unimportant, powerless to make any kind of difference in any sphere of her world.

            And yet, it is she the angel Gabriel visits.  It is she, among all other people, who has found favor with God.  It is in her response to Gabriel’s greeting that we begin to see why Mary is extraordinary.  For she is perplexed, greatly troubled by the angel’s greeting.  Mary remembers her Jewish history well enough to know that visits from divine messengers generally preface challenges.  She understands there is more to this greeting than “Hello, Mary.  Did you know that God finds favor with you?”

            The news that she will deliver a son, is neither surprising nor unwelcome.  After all, bearing children is expected in the marriage contract her parents have entered into with Joseph.  And sons were more welcome than daughters in this time and culture.  What is surprising is what she is to name her son.  Instead of Bar Joseph—son of Joseph, she is to name him Jesus—Yeshua, in Hebrew, which means “God saves.”  Then there’s this talk about of her son on David’s throne.  Revitalizing a Jewish kingdom means wrestling out of the Roman emperor’s iron grip.  I imagine it’s the name and the throne that put this wise Mary on her guard.  Is this angel suggesting her son will be born outside of her betrothal?  Is this angel proposing sedition? 

            So, Mary asks, “How?  How can this happen when I am a virgin?”  But behind this question is “How?  How can God consider me favored but deliberately put me in danger?”  For if Mary does become pregnant with a child who is not his, Joseph can have her stoned to death.  And renewing David’s monarchy, revolting against the Romans, is a capital offense.  What did I say earlier?  Divine messengers tend to preface challenges.

            So how does Gabriel propose to ease Mary’s concerns?  He tells her, “God will take care of you. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, your son will reign over a kingdom that will have no end—not enclosed by geographical or physical features, not bounded by time, not subject to any person or power other than God.  He tells her, “Through the power of the Holy Spirit, you, Mary, will bear God into the world.”   And Gabriel concludes,  “For with God, nothing will be impossible.”

             This week I found many different images for Mary’s annunciation.  I want to share 3 with you that illumine her response. 

http://www.ibiblio.org/wm/paint/auth/rossetti/annunciation.jpg  (1849 – 1850 painting by Dante Rosetti)

Here, is a Mary backed into a corner, a fatalistic Mary, a Mary who feels she has no choice.  I can almost hear her response to Gabriel.  “Okay, let it be with me just as you have said.”  I don’t like this perspective of Mary.  For in it, she is just a pawn in God’s chess game.

http://hoocher.com/Lorenzo_Lotto/Annunciation_ca_1527.jpg  (Lorena Lotto,  1534 – 1535)

This Mary is not backed into a corner.  She is not meekly accepting an unwanted fate. This Mary appears to be running away from the angel.  This Mary recognizes she has a choice.  And her response seems to be “No Way!  I am not going to do this!”  It’s a valid response, a response with which many of us are well-acquainted.  And it may well have been her initial response to Gabriel’s message.

http://stmaryskerrisdale.ca/centennial/files/Annunciation-full.jpg

Here, is a Mary who chooses to work with God, a Mary who will be empowered by the Holy Spirit. Here, Mary has heard Gabriel’s message, has thoughtfully considered it and all its implications, and now eagerly embraces God’s invitation to bear God’s son and in so doing to help bring about God’s purpose for humanity.

            This painting reminds me why Luke tells the annunciation story—to emphasize the following.

1.  God acts in human history.  Our relationship with God is not other-worldly.

Our relationship with God involves all that is us—seeing, hearing, tasting, touching, smelling, feeling, knowing, intuiting.  God is with us in the physical here and now!  

2.  God enlists human agency in achieving God’s purpose for creation.  God invites us to work with and for God to re-make, to re-purpose creation into what God originally intended—a place where all are loved and valued and cared for.

3.  With God, nothing is impossible.  With God, expect the unexpected.  Hope for the unbelievable.  Reach for the unachievable. 

            So, if God is with us here and now, not only acting within human history, but also inviting us to be a part of God’s work, none of us is unimportant.  Each of us can make a significant difference.  Like Mary, each one of us is called to bear God into the world—to carry God’s presence in a unique way.

            How might you bear God into the world? 

            Carol, a single mother, wanted to join a Sunday evening counseling group.  But she could not afford a weekly babysitter for her kindergartner son.  So, the parents of one of his classmates invited him to come over and play with their child every Sunday evening.  A weekly playdate—that’s no big deal, it’s insignificant—or so these parents thought.  After a few months, Carol shared with this couple that she could not have gotten through that time without the support group.  And it was only because her son was playing at their home each Sunday evening, that she was able to attend the group meetings. How did this family bear God’s presence into the world? in a weekly playdate.  Did they make a significant difference?  For Carol, they did. 

            Each one of us is important in God’s plan.  Like Mary, we can choose whether and how we respond to the challenging invitation to bear God into the world.  Yes, each one of us is called to carry God’s presence into a world that hopes for, longs for, aches for it.  Listen . . .  what divine invitation is being offered to you?  Will you respond, “Here I am, the servant of the Lord.  Let it be with me according to God’s word.”

Let us pray:

Living God,

Who gave to Mary anxious questioning,

faith to believe, and the space to say “yes,” 

Keep us alert for visiting angels,

to hear your call,

to be honest yet faithful,

and know that for you,

nothing is impossible, in Jesus Christ.  Amen.

(prayer from Brian Wren, Advent, Christmas, and Ephiphany:  Liturgies and Prayers for Public Worship.  Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2008.  p. 66)

Oaks of Righteousness--Isaiah 61: 1 - 4, 8 - 11

            Thirty years ago, interviewing the very private actress Katherine Hepburn, Barbara Walters posed the question, “If you were a tree, what kind would you be?”  Hepburn replied “an elm” and gave reasons for her choice.  Watching that interview, I was surprised she had not replied “an oak.”  After all, in southeast Texas—where I grew up—the oak is a magnificent tree, growing in the rich soil of the bottomlands.  In Texas, the oak is a symbol for grace, strength, and longevity—3 traits I observed in Katherine Hepburn.  At the time of the interview, I was living in Austin where downtown there stood a vigorous, mighty 500 year-old oak tree named “Treaty Oak.” 

It is the lone survivor of a grove of oaks sacred to the indigenous Tonkawa and Commanche native Americans.  If Barbara Walters had asked me what kind of tree I wanted to be, I would have replied “an oak!” 

            In today’s text we hear, “They will be called oaks of righteousness.”  Isaiah is speaking to and about the Jewish exiles who have returned to Jerusalem.  All those years in captivity—time enough for 2 generations to be born and grow into adulthood—all those years in captivity, the exiles had longed for their homeland, Judah.  As the older generations told their stories, the younger ones listened and learned of days of glory, of a strong and fortified Jerusalem, of a fertile land with thriving vineyards, of a people chosen and blessed by God.  The exiled people wept over what was lost until the prophet Isaiah brought them words of hope—words we heard last Sunday.  God saying, “Comfort my people.  Tell them they have served their time. Tell them I am making a smooth, level road to speed my reunion with them, a road for them to travel with me back to Judah.”  Those words brought hope to the Jewish people living in captivity—hope that God had not abandoned them, hope that God would lead them back home.

            And they did return to their homeland.  When, Cyrus, king of Persia defeated Babylon, he not only released the Israelites, but he also commissioned Jewish leaders holding positions of power within his empire to lead the exiles home and to oversee the rebuilding of their temple.  Imagine how hopeful the exiles must have been as they traveled—home to their land, home to their temple, home to their dreams of renewed glory.

            But when they arrived, they found devastation.  The temple, razed to the ground at the end of the Babylonian siege 50 years before, was still in ruins.  The city, although inhabited, was not fortified and resembled a rambling outpost more than the capital city of a God-blessed people.  The land, once dotted with well-tended vineyards and olive groves barely sustained those who currently inhabited it.  There was much to do and few resources from which to draw.  Imagine how the enormity of the task of rebuilding tempered their joy at returning home. It is to this group of people—several years after their return from exile, tired from laying the groundwork for rebuilding, disappointed with the results so far, still just barely getting by—It is to this group of people that Isaiah speaks the words from today’s text—words of encouragement.

            Empowered by God’s spirit Isaiah promises restoration and renewal.  Empowered by God’s spirit, the people will complete the rebuilding.

            Isaiah speaks words of hope.  The people will be oaks of righteousness.  “The biblical oak was an evergreen tree . . . never shed[ding] its leaves . . . it always seemed to remain ‘alive.’”[1] God is promising life—flourishing life—for the people.  They will be oaks of righteousness.  The righteousness referred to here is not strict adherence to rules or regulations.  Righteousness here is relational. 

            They will have a burning compassion for others.  The land will be cultivated, so that none will go hungry.  The city—including its infrastructure and economy—will be rebuilt so that all will be able to work and contribute to the community’s life.  The temple will be restored so that everyone might worship the sovereign God who brought them out of exile, the faithful God who promised to bless all peoples of the earth through them, the loving God who created them for relationship.

            The people will be oaks of righteousness.  Listening to Isaiah’s prophecy, they probably did not feel strong, faithful, alive—like mighty, evergreen oaks—not yet.  But God’s promise, spoken through the prophet begins the cultivation of these seedling people.  They will, in time, grow into majestic oaks of faithfulness and righteousness.  They and their descendents will cling to these words for 500 years—awaiting God’s anointed one, the Messiah, who will bring good news to the afflicted, freedom to the captives, and usher in not the year of the Lord’s favor, but the reign of God here on earth.

            Can these words of promise and hope, spoken over 2500 years ago to Middle Eastern people returned from exile in a foreign land—Can these words speak to us—free, 21^st century Kansans?  

            What do we know about rebuilding, restoring, renewing?

            What do we know about much to do and few resources upon which to draw?

            What do we know about being tired from long, hard labor?

            What do we know about recapturing glory days? 

            We are well-acquainted with these challenges. So, Isaiah’s prophecy of promise speaks to us, too. We will be oaks of righteousness.

            For through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ, we are planted in fertile, river-bottom land. Through the power of the Holy Spirit we are cultivated to grow in our faith.  God’s love shines on us, and God’s grace rains on us, nurturing in us a burning compassion—invigorating us to love—to love God with all our heart and soul and mind and strength and to love others as we love ourselves. 

            Like all trees, we begin as a seed; we start small.  Our roots must reach deep into the earth before our seedling grows very thick or tall.  Our roots must reach out underground for nutrients and deep moisture before our branches are covered with leaves.  It is this deep rooting in faith that prepares us to be shade from heat and shelter from storm for those who find their way to our grove. 

            Two Sundays ago I shared with you that this Advent, I would “Keep Watch” for Christ’s coming by attending to Christ’s presence in my day-to-day life.  I said I would ponder the question, “When was I closest to Christ this week?”  Keeping Watch for Christ’s presence is a way of sending my roots deep into fertile soil that will help me grow into an oak of righteousness. 

            Although that Sunday, I shared a “closest to Christ” moment for that week, I did not intend to use you as my accountability group during Advent. But last Sunday afternoon, one of you said to me,  “Mari Lyn, I’m going to hold you accountable.  You did not tell us in worship today how you experienced Christ in your life this week.  And I want to know.”

            So, I will share with you:  Two weeks ago I found myself in Christ’s presence through hospitality.  During that week, several different people took time from their days to sit and visit with me, to share their memories, their hopes and dreams, and their fears.  In the gifts of their time and open communication, I was in Christ’s presence.  These people were oaks of righteousness for me, and their hospitality nurtured this sapling. 

            When was I closest to Christ this past week?  On Wednesday evening, I came here, to this sanctuary and listened as the choir practiced for tonight’s Vespers service. As their practice flowed from greetings and laughter to introspection and song, their music washed over me like rain on the leaves of a tree.  It seeped into the trunk of my oak soul.    

            Isaiah’s prophecy includes us.  We, too, are acorns (oak seeds) planted by God. In this season of Advent, as we prepare ourselves for Christ’s coming, may our roots dig ever deeper into the soil of God’s Word, and may they draw moisture from God’s loving presence, so that we, too, are filled with the hope of becoming oaks of righteousness.

(The photograph of Treaty Oak was found at http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3552/3411898690_afe65d6240.jpg)

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[1] (George A. F. Knight. Isaiah 56 – 66:  The New Israel. International Theological Commentary series.  Grand Rapids:  Wm B. Eerdmans, 1985, p. 56.)

"Prepare the Way for the Lord" (Isaiah 60: 1 - 11; Mark 1: 1 - 8)

       Prepare the way for the Lord. Raise up the valleys, lower the mountains and hills. Make the rough ground level.  Make the rugged places smooth.

            These words remind me of traveling with my family.  When I was a child, we took long vacations, driving across the country to visit historic and inspiring sites.  Traveling on I-20 in west Texas, I remember asking my Daddy “Why did they tear up the hills like that when they built this road?”  For rising up on either side of us on the interstate was part of the inside of the hill—exposed rock.  Why did they blow up the hill to put the highway through it?  Why not make the road go up and down the hills.  My Daddy told me they build the roads somewhat level because cars labor going up and down steep hills and people can travel faster on level roads.  (Actually, anyone who knew my Daddy knows his answer was much more involved with the history of road building for the pioneers and the science and math of angles of incline.)


          Kevin and the girls and I also drove long distances for our summer vacations.  The mountains in New Mexico and Colorado were favorite destinations. After we bought a 4-wheel drive SUV, we got brave and ventured out on routes such as “Oh My God” Road.
  

We traveled roads that twisted and turned along switchbacks, gravel and rock roads, narrow roads with no guardrails between us and the downside of the mountain. Roads that were anything but straight, level, or smooth.  Oh, the sights were beautiful, but the drives were long and bumpy and at times a little scary.

            Our Old Testament text today says: Prepare the way for the Lord.  Make a smooth, level, straight highway so that the Lord may come quickly.

            Why is haste so important?  God’s people are in Babylon—in despair.  For 50 years they have been exiled from their homes, their land, and their temple.  They feel like they have been exiled from their God. For Jerusalem and the land surrounding it was the place of God’s promise to their patriarch Abraham.  It was the place of God’s promise to their ancestors, the Hebrew slaves fleeing Egypt.  It was the place ruled by God’s promised dynasty—King David and his descendants. It was the place of the temple where the people worshiped God.  It was the place where the stone tablets containing God’s law where housed. To be cut off from the land of God’s promise, to be cut off from the rulers anointed by God, to be cut off from the place of worship was to be cut off from God.  God’s people, banished to Babylon, feel banished from God.

            The prophets of the time immediately preceding the exile—Jeremiah and Ezekiel—laid the blame for the fall of Jerusalem, the devastation of the land of Judah, and the exile to Babylon squarely on the shoulders of the Jewish people and their leaders.  Time and again, God had tried to call God’s people back to right relationship, but they had not responded.  Now, 50 years after they had been marched away from Jerusalem, these exiles—and their children and grandchildren born in captivity—hear from God through the prophet Isaiah— “Comfort my people.  Tell them they have served their time. Tell them I is making a smooth, level road that cuts a straight line from Jerusalem to Babylon.”  You see, God is making a road to speed God’s reunion with God’s people.  God is making a road to speed the people’s return to the place of promise. They will be restored.  Even though they have not been faithful to God’s covenant, God is faithful to them. God says, “Tell them I am preparing the way.” 

            This is truly a message of hope to the exiles. God is on the way—not as a judge, for God has forgiven them.  God is on the way, coming as a gentle shepherd drawing them close to God’s heart.

            While we may not have been banished from the place of our roots, Isaiah’s words offer us hope, as well.  For at some point in our lives, we, like the Jews in Babylon, may find ourselves in despair—feeling cut off from God.  Worrying how to pay for unexpected bills, lamenting a relationship that seems to lie in ruins, fearing a doctor’s diagnosis, grieving the death of someone we love, we may find ourselves losing hope—feeling exiled from God—abandoned and alone.  But this text tells us, that when we despair, God prepares a way to be with us, to assure us of God’s loving presence, to draw us as close to God’s heart as a shepherd holding a lamb to his bosom.  In the midst of such despair, this text gives us hope.     

            In our New Testament reading today, we hear the same words.  “Prepare a way for the Lord. Make straight paths for him.”  But these words, spoken at a different time—500 years later, to a different audience—descendents of the Jews who had returned to their homeland, through a different prophet—John the Baptizer, these words, spoken here, have a different meaning. For John the Baptizer calls the people to prepare the way for the Lord.  Not a physical road for the people to travel along, the straight path to which John the Baptizer refers is a metaphor.  For it is the rough places of their hearts which must be made smooth.  How? Through repentance.  By turning back towards God, the people will be forgiven.  John’s baptism with water is a public commitment to prepare the way for the Lord in their lives.  John the Baptizer promises their repentance prepares their hearts, their minds, and their lives for the transformation they will experience when the One who is more powerful than he arrives.  For that One will baptize them with the Holy Spirit. And who is this One coming after John the Baptizer?  Who is this One who is more powerful than he?  It is Christ.  Christ is coming. 

            So John’s message reminds us of Advent.  Advent—a time of hopeful expectation, a time to prepare for the way of the Lord, a time to prepare for the coming of Christ.

            Last Sunday, I offered that, as part of my own Advent preparation, I seek to be aware of Christ’s presence in my day-to-day life.  How else can we prepare the way for the Lord?

            Perhaps we can prepare ourselves by heeding the call of John the Baptizer.  We know, that through the grace of Jesus Christ, we are already forgiven, but that does not preclude our repenting—our turning back towards God—our re-focusing on God.  Perhaps we can re-focus through daily prayer, study, or reflection.  In the Spirit Box, I invited our children to try out daily reflection by reading the Advent pages I gave them, lighting a candle, and singing with their families.  Perhaps you could try that, too.  I didn’t print copies for each of you, but our church's webpage  has a link to an Advent resource online. 

            If we truly want to invite Christ into our lives this Advent, we need to prepare the way—prepare the way of our hearts through prayerful reflection.

            How do we know that we need to prepare? God says “I will send my messenger ahead of you . . . a voice of one calling in the wilderness.” In both our texts today, God calls someone to be the messenger—someone to bring the good news:  “You who bring good news . . .  lift up your voice with a shout, 
lift it up, do not be afraid; say . . . , ‘Here is your God!’” (Isaiah 40:9 CEB)

            Perhaps you are the messenger this season who will bring hopeful news of comfort and peace to someone who despairs. Perhaps you are the messenger who will invite a friend, neighbor or a co-worker to worship and fellowship.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will befriend someone who is lonely.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will visit someone who is homebound.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will offer a smile of kindness and a word of thanks to a harried store cashier.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will sort, display, and provide warm clothes through our Thrift Shop.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will collect or distribute food for Operation Christmas.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will wrap gifts with Cops for Tots.  Perhaps you are the messenger who will greet people with the sound of the Salvation Army bell.  Perhaps this season, you are being called to be the messenger to prepare the way for the Lord for someone else.

            Prepare the way.  When Kevin’s brother and sister-in-law lived out in the country, they had a ½ —mile long dirt driveway.  Now over the course of a west Texas year, with sun and rain, heat and ice, snow and wind, their drive got bumpy with ruts and wash outs. People would not visit them if their cars were going to bottom out driving up the driveway.  So when Jack and Barbra wanted company—especially when they wanted to host the big family get-togethers and reunions, they had to prepare the way—the driveway.  They had to haul in more dirt to fill in the holes, pack it all down and grate it smooth.

            During this Advent season, what roads are you called to make straight?  Whose way to the good news of God’s presence and love and grace are you called to make smooth?  Prepare the way for the Lord.






  

           

(My apologies to the artist of the beautiful piece at the top of today's entry to the blog.  I failed to keep records of how I found it.

The picture of  "Oh my God Road" is from http://inlinethumb36.webshots.com/42083/2471250910101960247S500x500Q85.jpg

My apologies to the photographer of the straight highway heading to the mountains.  I cannot remember the search I tried to find it.)