"So who is adventing this Sunday?" asked one of my congregation members.
For a moment, I had to chuckle. Adventing? Like the season of Advent is now a verb? "So, what did you do today?" "Oh, I did a few errands and some adventing..."
Now before there is some confusion with a denomination, the Seventh Day Adventists, or something involving them, the question referred to who was the assigned readers for this Sunday's Advent Wreath ceremony. The four candles in the wreath represent four Sundays until Christmas and carry the title of hope, peace, joy, and love. The center candle is the Christ candle. Advent is a liturgical season of waiting, hoping, expecting. Less somber than the season of Lent (the season prior to Easter), but more serious than Common Time (a terrible title for the time between Pentecost Sunday and Christ the King Sunday), Advent is not just a time to remember the coming of Christ as a babe, but more importantly, the coming of Christ now and in the future.
The meaning of Advent is coming, arriving, or appearing. It is a forward leaning season, even as it turns backward towards Christ's earthly birth. It is best practiced as a season of anticipation. I know I have shared before my tradition of the traveling nativity figurines of the Butterick household. None of the pieces arrive at the same time. Joseph and Mary arrive on Christmas Eve Day. Baby Jesus arrives Christmas Eve evening. The wise men arrive at the nativity on January 6, the day of Epiphany.
Each Sunday is a moment to recognize what is coming, arriving, or appearing. In the darkest of nights, hope still arrives. In the midst of wars, fights, and troubles, peace still arrives. In the midst of sadness, joy still arrives. In the midst of hatred, love still arrives. Advent helps remind us that we have not arrived but are arriving. We are journeying along the paths of becoming, arriving, or appearing.
Beyond Advent Sundays, we may recognize other moments and occasions of coming, arriving, or appearing. Two people coming together into a relationship. Arriving at a new place. Appearing in an unexpected role or accomplishment. Life can easily been seen as an extended train of coming, arriving, or appearing.
So perhaps my congregation member was not incorrect in "adventing" this season. Maybe it is good to think of this time not as a moment to be still (although rest is just as important as action) but rather a time of coming, arriving and appearing. I think we all could call it "adventing."
May your "adventing" season be blessed with moments of coming, arriving, and appearing.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Friday, December 7, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
After Heart Attack: One Year Later
Today is an odd sort of "anniversary" for me. It is one year since my heart attack. I've written about it before on this blog, so the details can be revisited, if needed. The basics of the story is that I was then a 35 year old who woke up that Friday morning not feeling "right," and ended up having one stent placed in the left side of my heart before sundown on July 15, 2011. I was also told that my quick action and response saved my life.
The last 365 days have been transformative. From no medications to four. From invincibility to mortality. From calm to panic. From shock to acceptance. My family history is riddled with stories of those who have died from heart attack and/or heart disease. These last 365 days have created a strange and new chapter in the family tree: a heart attack survivor.
Let's not go into the odd version of hell that is the US health care insurance industry that seems to willfully punish illness and is unwilling to pay for unexpected or unplanned treatment (like I could plan a heart attack?!). Thankfully, that chapter is also fading away.
As life moves on at its seemingly unstoppable one-day-at-a-time pace, I find myself seeing temptation of running once again fast and hard and as much as possible calling to me. Our "get it quick" and "get it now" society seems hell-bent on its own self destruction, leaving victims in its wake. Thankfully, I at least notice the warning signals of "too much" and find myself stopping before I'm once again do-it-all, be-it-all and on a fast track to another heart issue.
My healthy habits are improving once again, and I am willing to focus on that at the cost of other important (but not life-giving) matters or issues. Medications seem to be keeping things under control, although more healthy lifestyle changes cannot hurt (and perhaps can eliminate some medications altogether at some point).
One year later, it is an odd fraternity to be in as a heart attack survivor. I know many more survivors that I ever expected. I can truly say from experience that every little pain or odd sensation can send a terrifying panic into the mind. Many have said to me that you will never get completely rid of that from your psyche. I also know that much of life is how you embrace living, and if you have reason (or reasons) to live, will power is a powerful counter.
Sure, 2011 was a bit of a setback in my health and life. But it did not take either health or life fully away from me. I live with its consequences now and for the rest of my life. But there is life after life-threatening conditions. It can take one's life, and this past year is also filled with stories in which many loved ones have had that most precious gift taken from their lives and families.
In the midst of death, there is also life. In the midst of darkness, there is also light. Broken, yet whole. Hurt, yet healed.
Happy anniversary to Jason's heart. Let's keep moving together.
The last 365 days have been transformative. From no medications to four. From invincibility to mortality. From calm to panic. From shock to acceptance. My family history is riddled with stories of those who have died from heart attack and/or heart disease. These last 365 days have created a strange and new chapter in the family tree: a heart attack survivor.
Let's not go into the odd version of hell that is the US health care insurance industry that seems to willfully punish illness and is unwilling to pay for unexpected or unplanned treatment (like I could plan a heart attack?!). Thankfully, that chapter is also fading away.
As life moves on at its seemingly unstoppable one-day-at-a-time pace, I find myself seeing temptation of running once again fast and hard and as much as possible calling to me. Our "get it quick" and "get it now" society seems hell-bent on its own self destruction, leaving victims in its wake. Thankfully, I at least notice the warning signals of "too much" and find myself stopping before I'm once again do-it-all, be-it-all and on a fast track to another heart issue.
My healthy habits are improving once again, and I am willing to focus on that at the cost of other important (but not life-giving) matters or issues. Medications seem to be keeping things under control, although more healthy lifestyle changes cannot hurt (and perhaps can eliminate some medications altogether at some point).
One year later, it is an odd fraternity to be in as a heart attack survivor. I know many more survivors that I ever expected. I can truly say from experience that every little pain or odd sensation can send a terrifying panic into the mind. Many have said to me that you will never get completely rid of that from your psyche. I also know that much of life is how you embrace living, and if you have reason (or reasons) to live, will power is a powerful counter.
Sure, 2011 was a bit of a setback in my health and life. But it did not take either health or life fully away from me. I live with its consequences now and for the rest of my life. But there is life after life-threatening conditions. It can take one's life, and this past year is also filled with stories in which many loved ones have had that most precious gift taken from their lives and families.
In the midst of death, there is also life. In the midst of darkness, there is also light. Broken, yet whole. Hurt, yet healed.
Happy anniversary to Jason's heart. Let's keep moving together.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Home Again?
Recently, I returned to Christian Theological Seminary for a public seminar. While a majority of my wife's family reside in the Indianapolis metropolitan area, it had been more than a year or two since I had walked down the grey stone hallways decorated with modern art and sculpture, peered up to the bells in Sweeney Chapel, admired the looming pipes of the Holtkamp organ, or gathered in the Shelton auditorium. In many ways, it appeared unchanged. In other ways, everything had changed.
I suppose it is what to be expected. Time is a relentless scorekeeper. For four years, this spiritual center had been a weekly experience of challenge, comfort, and community. Those years have long been sealed by time. Each experience is now some form of memory. With the years between, unexpected changes have intervened in my life, and I am not exactly the same person I was when I was last striding across the stage of Shelton Auditorium to receive my MDiv degree.
The same is true when it comes to my first college experiences at Millikin University. Construction has certainly intervened to physically change the appearance of campus and even department locations. Where my car nearly always parked is now where the Leighty-Tabor Science Center now stands. With the current capital campaign, the Richards-Treat University Center, like Mueller Hall and the homes on West William Street, will be just a memory in my Millikin memories. I can stand in Staley Library, sit at my favorite study table, and yet marvel at the road my first alma mater and one of her son's has traveled since we met in the recent past.
Perhaps your childhood home is no longer where your parents live. Driving by it today, it seems like a distant part of your story. Or a favorite park, or store, or a popular festival or event. Traveling home again, you realize that home is not exactly what it used to be. Like a stage play, the scenery is changed for the next chapter, the next scene. Each moment is never fully captured, but slips often too quickly from our grasp and control. No amount of money or education can make time stop. It moves, irregardless of wealth or poverty, doctorates or drop-outs. While it is easy to form judgments, whether some place was "good" or some event "bad", time seems to allow each to happen in its own time and its own place.
I used to chuckle when I heard the phrase, "You can't go home again." Naively I believed time is a bit slower in the midwest. Now I believe it runs the same speed, but its consequences may be slower to comprehend fully. On some level, yes I can go back to 248 E Franklin. The physical location has not changed. But my relationship between my childhood room and my adult life has changed.
The same is true about high school, college, and graduate school. Each is still physically in the same location as they were when my life traveled with them. But each now has a different relationship to my life now than then. Some educators, some instructors, some professors have moved away. Some still remain, a spot of familiarity in a place that has become less familiar.
These places in our lives, our career paths, our experiences, remain with us. Each is in some way a loving parent, each has given us some part of our current life. But like our parents, they also change, and our relationship to them evolves. We will always be children of the institutions who were formative in who we have become. Yet we cannot remain children forever. Home again? Yes and no. As a stepping stone, yes. As an unchanging shelter, probably not.
I suppose it is what to be expected. Time is a relentless scorekeeper. For four years, this spiritual center had been a weekly experience of challenge, comfort, and community. Those years have long been sealed by time. Each experience is now some form of memory. With the years between, unexpected changes have intervened in my life, and I am not exactly the same person I was when I was last striding across the stage of Shelton Auditorium to receive my MDiv degree.
The same is true when it comes to my first college experiences at Millikin University. Construction has certainly intervened to physically change the appearance of campus and even department locations. Where my car nearly always parked is now where the Leighty-Tabor Science Center now stands. With the current capital campaign, the Richards-Treat University Center, like Mueller Hall and the homes on West William Street, will be just a memory in my Millikin memories. I can stand in Staley Library, sit at my favorite study table, and yet marvel at the road my first alma mater and one of her son's has traveled since we met in the recent past.
Perhaps your childhood home is no longer where your parents live. Driving by it today, it seems like a distant part of your story. Or a favorite park, or store, or a popular festival or event. Traveling home again, you realize that home is not exactly what it used to be. Like a stage play, the scenery is changed for the next chapter, the next scene. Each moment is never fully captured, but slips often too quickly from our grasp and control. No amount of money or education can make time stop. It moves, irregardless of wealth or poverty, doctorates or drop-outs. While it is easy to form judgments, whether some place was "good" or some event "bad", time seems to allow each to happen in its own time and its own place.
I used to chuckle when I heard the phrase, "You can't go home again." Naively I believed time is a bit slower in the midwest. Now I believe it runs the same speed, but its consequences may be slower to comprehend fully. On some level, yes I can go back to 248 E Franklin. The physical location has not changed. But my relationship between my childhood room and my adult life has changed.
The same is true about high school, college, and graduate school. Each is still physically in the same location as they were when my life traveled with them. But each now has a different relationship to my life now than then. Some educators, some instructors, some professors have moved away. Some still remain, a spot of familiarity in a place that has become less familiar.
These places in our lives, our career paths, our experiences, remain with us. Each is in some way a loving parent, each has given us some part of our current life. But like our parents, they also change, and our relationship to them evolves. We will always be children of the institutions who were formative in who we have become. Yet we cannot remain children forever. Home again? Yes and no. As a stepping stone, yes. As an unchanging shelter, probably not.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Savoring Advent, Saving Christmas
As the calendar turns to December, the church begins a new year. No doubt there are many interesting traditions and practices you do as part of your Christmas preparations. We unpack memories with our cherished decorations. Certain events, particular moments, come into view each and every year at this special time. Some may be joyous; others are sorrows. This may be a year without: a loved one, a particular tradition, a particular preparation.
One tradition I cherish is our family nativity set on the fireplace mantel. Since Christmas, 1999, this particular Wal-Mart purchased, Chinese manufactured collection of ceramic figurines has warmed our hearts through the years. If you were to visit our home on Prairie Avenue, you would find the backdrop already set up, with our lone shepherd and a small sheep wandering outside of it.
No Mary. No Joseph. No tiny Jesus. No wise men and their camel entourage. Just a shepherd and his lone sheep.
Are these parts missing? No. It is because their parts of the story have not arrived yet. The season is Advent, preparing, not Christmas. I do not know about you, but a month of preparation still catches me a bit unprepared to receive this timeless story in its fullness. God with us. God dwelling not in heaven, but here, on earth, the son of a teenage mother and his perceived older father.
We receive our two versions of the story from two gospels, Matthew & Luke. Both stories are usually conflated into one singular story, although the differences between each are striking. Each story has its own influences, its own persuasive power. They are not news reports; they are arguments that state the true son of God (and it’s not the Roman Emperor) came to peasants and among the poor.
A birth happens on one day most of the time. It seems odd to celebrate it an entire month, with every element of the story standing faithfully as part of the decorations. Yet, the story begins as a journey. A journey to Bethlehem.
Mary and Joseph will not be in our nativity until December 24. Oh, they are traveling through the house, mind you; spotted on a random shelf or piece of furniture. The wise men are traveling too; their gifts and their animals spotted in other places throughout the house. The figurine of baby Jesus will be placed in the nativity on December 25, the celebrated birthday. Our wise men figurines will arrive on January 6, twelve days after Christmas, beginning the season of Epiphany.
This year, try not to rush right into Christmas. Spend a little time with Advent, preparing the way. Advent is not to be like Lent; it is a season of hope, joy, expectation. If you are tired of Christmas by the time it arrives, then you have not practiced Advent properly. Choose to practice a little hope, joy, and expectation this Advent season. Christmas will come.
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