A Light Shines in the Darkness

Some words of reflection from our service of hope and healing last night...

             It is hard to believe that it is already December. Once again Thanksgiving has flown by and we are already in the midst of busy preparations for Christmas. Presents to buy, houses to decorate, parties to plan for, etc. etc. And in spite of how exhausting this season of Advent can be, I have to confess that there is something comforting about the busyness of the holidays, or about any day, really. Keeping myself busy and distracted, I can avoid having to stop and take a deeper look at myself and ask, “no really, Emily, how is it with your soul today?” That is a tough question and I would venture to say, most of us don’t dare stop and ask ourselves this because we are perhaps quite afraid of the answer. If we stop long enough to let our souls speak to us in the silence, think of what they might say- I am lonely. I don’t feel that I am enough. I am not happy. I am still grieving when everyone else has moved on already. I want out of my marriage. I feel like a failure. I am scared and I don’t know what to do.

            In the midst of a season characterized by great joy and merriment, parties and abundant light, it is easier to push away the darkness. It is easier to stay busy and not ask ourselves the hard questions. And yet, as much as we try to avoid them, as much as we can try to push our pain into a corner, or hide it beneath a happy face, the darkness will eventually catch up with us.

            Parker Palmer says, “the only way to deal with the darkness is not to go around it or turn your back on it to pretend it isn’t there, but to go deeper into it until you begin to see a little bit of light.” This is counterintuitive to everything we know about comfort and pain. Nobody likes to feel pain, and human beings will usually go to any lengths to avoid feeling it, even if we know that on the other side healing awaits us.  And so it is easier to stay busy, to turn to noise and distractions to keep us distanced from ourselves and prevent us from facing our darkest places. We are afraid of what we might find there if we really started digging around. And yet, as scary as it may be, healing can only begin once we gather up the courage to stop and give name to the brokenness that lies so close to each of our hearts. It is only by moving into darkness, instead of running from it that we can start to let light in. Because the thing is, light doesn’t go around darkness; it cuts through to the very heart of it.

            The psalmist assures us that no matter how far we run to avoid the darkness, even to the ends of the earth, God’s presence never leaves us. As far into the dark as we must walk to experience healing, as long as we must wait for a glimpse of dawn to appear, we know that God waits with us.

Where can I go from your spirit?

    Or where can I flee from your presence? 

If I ascend to heaven, you are there;

    if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning

    and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

    and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

    and the light around me become night,”

even the darkness is not dark to you;

    the night is as bright as the day,

    for darkness is as light to you. (Psalm 139)

            How often have we walked into the dark places in our lives and felt like we would be overwhelmed. Like every bit of light has been snuffed out and we might never see the light of day again? Perhaps that might sound a bit dramatic, but the truth is darkness can seem all consuming and terrifying. It takes away our control and leaves us unsteady and afraid. It is no wonder we go to such lengths to avoid it, even when the things we turn to end up doing us more harm than good. But the thing is, in order to get to the other side of the darkness, you have to go through it. There is no avoiding that scary in between time, that darkest of places where you are too far in to turn around and not close enough to see the light of the other side. It is the point of no return, where the path you took to get here has washed out and the way forward is still concealed from you. The old is not old enough to have died away and the new is still too young to be born.

            And yet… in the middle of the darkness, when we least expect it, we hear these words: 

“In the beginning was the Word 
and what has come into being through the Word was life
and the life was the light of all people. 
The light shines in the darkness 
and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1)

            Friends, darkness is a scary place. But we have what it takes to walk into it. We can embrace the hard work of healing, letting go, moving forward, and facing our own shadows even when we have no control and can’t see where we are going. We can do this because of the one who walks with us. Because of the one who is not overcome by the darkness. Like a lighthouse shining out into the darkest of seas, Christ tells us, “You are here.” “Keep going.” “You may not see the way ahead, but I see you.”  “You are not alone.”

            May these words give us the strength and the courage we need to illuminate the darkest shadows of our hearts; that Christ’s presence would guide us, ground us and lead us home to the other side. Amen.

On Advent and Prophetic Voices and Fighting Like a Girl

             Advent is upon us. This in between time of waiting and expectancy that always seems to be surrounded by peace and joy and good tidings (and the excitement of Christmas services being over and finally getting to rest and spend time with our family for all us church working folk). This is the only time a year when we get excited about waiting. I know in my own life, I have never been one to welcome in between times or having to wait for anything with much peace or joy.

            This year, for some reason, Advent has felt very different to me. With everything that is going on in the world, I feel a bit odd (and privileged) to sit in the beauty of poinsettia filled sanctuaries listening to choirs sing carols and tell the stories of Christ’s birth. Yesterday I went to a Lessons and Carols service at St. Paul’s UMC in Houston. Exquisite music, beautiful prayers, and one of the best versions of the Adam and Eve story I have ever heard- read by quite possibly the most adorable little girl ever- in perfect King James English, no less. It was the perfect Advent celebration. And as we were leaving, mom looked at me said, “that was the first time I have ever sat in a sanctuary and thought about what would happen if a gunman came in.”

            Advent anticipation marked by fear. Peaceful and silent nights un-silenced by violence and bombs. It isn’t as though this is the first time we have lived in a war torn or violent world during Advent. This was the very world that Jesus was born into. And for many, this is a daily reality that is unconcerned with certain months of the year or religious celebrations. However it does seem that the fear and terror are getting closer and closer to home, and for those of us who have been privileged enough to not experience the atrocities of war and violence first hand, we are being called to face something in what feels like a much more real way for the first time. And so it seems easier to domesticate and sanitize the story of Advent and Christmas than to face the truth of how we turn away Mary’s and Joseph’s in our own lives daily. It seems easier to sit in silence watching the Christmas lights glimmer and dance, than to sit in the presence of those whose lives have been torn apart by war, listen to their stories and open up our homes to them. I am afraid, for me, it is easier to wait passively, feeling powerless, lamenting the violence in our world and using prayer as a thinly veiled spiritual response instead of using it as a call to action; a means of being present to God in a way that allows me to hear God’s voice calling me to step outside of my comfort zone, calling us to be the Church, to be a sign, however small, of the kingdom.

            But does one voice really matter? Yesterday, our gospel reading came from Luke 3:1-3- “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness. Prepare the way of the Lord.” As I read those words, I couldn’t help but remember this picture that has been circulating on social media.

            You probably haven’t seen it, but since about half of my friends on facebook are from Brazil, my newsfeed is an interesting polarity of North American and South American politics. For the past month, the governor of São Paulo has been trying to close and consolidate schools all over the state. This has led to a huge occupy movement by students and teachers who have been taking over and occupying their school buildings to protest and fight for their right to education. Throughout this occupation, several photos have emerged of young girls courageously confronting the police (notoriously known for being extremely violent) with their right to keep their schools.  The hash tag #fightlikeagirl has come to describe the bravery and boldness that these young girls have to stand up (non-violently) to police intimidation tactics and fight for a better life for themselves and their peers.

            “A voice cries out in the wilderness”- for education, for healthcare, for a better life for her and for her future children, for a place at the table, for her voice to be heard. A voice cries out to defy violence, withstand blows and stand her ground because she does not have the luxury of waiting any longer and cannot remain silent.  

            And after over a month of these voices crying out, the decision was overturned and the schools will, in fact, remain open. Because of one voice- not a voice of power or privilege- but the voice of one student, and then another, and then another, and another, who decided to believe that their voices mattered and ended up creating a movement that could not be silenced. These are the advent voices that I need to hear every day- the voices that give me hope while I actively wait. These are the voices that give me the courage to trust and use my own voice, even when it is uncomfortable, even when it isn’t convenient or easy. Because that is how we best prepare the way of the Lord- not just by singing songs and saying prayers, but by defending the powerless and acting out of love, by speaking truth and telling the stories that no one wants to hear, by remembering that Jesus walks with us and teaches us how to love our enemies and respond without fear. As we continue to wait, may we each have the courage to #fightlikeagirl and let our voice be heard in the wilderness.

Letting Your Guard Down...

"Above all guard your heart for it is the wellspring of life."- Proverbs 4:23

I was recently reminded of this piece of wisdom from Proverbs. It took me immediately back to my college days when I received well meaning dating advice based on this verse. "Guard your heart. Don't go too fast. Hold your cards close to your chest until you know where you stand and have the ever awkward DTR, (defining the relationship) talk. (Oh, college...)

It was well meaning advice. Really. And honestly it has served me well in many moments- Don't waste your heart on people who have repeatedly shown you they aren't worth your love or are only going to let you down. There is something to be said for letting go, walking away and not repeatedly investing in something or someone that is hurting you. Don't create false expectations. Recognize when to walk away from something or someone that doesn't bring you life- all solid life lessons that I have never been good at listening to and have usually had to learn the hard way (over and over again...) 

But I also recognize that at times it becomes all to easy to hide behind those same words.  All too often when I am in the throes of having my heart broken open, my tendency is to say, "That's it. I am done. This sucks. I am not doing this again. From here on out I am going to play it safe. No more sailing far from the shore. No more looking like a fool."

When my ego gets bruised, it is really easy to shut down. For me, when it comes to making the choice between fight or flight, between showing up again or retreating into silence, guarding my heart can look a lot like flight. Shutting down. Retreating.  Fleeing from the discomfort of having your heart broken open and choosing instead to form a protective and comfortable barrier around it so that it won't happen again. 

Recently I was having a conversation with a dear soul friend of mine in Brazil and I made a comment about needing to guard my heart. Her response, although not what I expected, was just what I needed to hear. She simply replied, "Don't guard it, you idiot. Use it!" (Can I get an amen for soul friends and their honest wisdom?)

What I was trying to pass off as sensible wisdom for a tidy and well kept (i.e. comfortable) heart space, she revealed as the bs that is was- a spiritualized attempt to play it safe. And it was then that I realized that guarding your heart (in this sense) does nothing to make it stronger. Like any coach would tell you, the only way to preserve your body and make it stronger, is by using it. You lift weights to break the muscle fibers down so they will become stronger and capable of doing more. And so it is in the very act of loving and allowing or hearts to break open- to love, to experience the pain and heartbreak of others, to risk loving someone who is different and who we have been taught to fear, that our hearts become stronger and more capable of doing what they were created to do. Guarding your heart can quickly become an easy out. A comfortable place to hang out where we only love people just like us and who we know have to love us back. That type of guarding your heart may feel good and easy and comfortable. And it may even fool us into thinking we are pretty good at loving others and being good Christians, but it will never deepen your heart's capacity in the way that having your heart broken open will. 

So as hard as it might be...

May we choose to not guard our hearts. 

May we choose to use them.

When it's foolish.

When it seems pointless. 

When it feels risky.

Even if it isn't reciprocated. 

Because that's who we are. That's who God created us to be for better or worse. Oh how easy it would be to guard my heart. Wrap it up and protect it and keep it safe and comfortable. I would save myself a lot of tears, a lot of pain, but I would also save myself from the very thing that makes me human and reflects the divine in me. As Josias, my therapist and friend in Brazil would say, I will always choose the pain of love to the pain of the absence of love. 

Here's to letting our guards down…

Uma oração para hoje

Deus, Tu es o nosso pai e a nossa mãe que nos ama. Criad@s, formad@s e chamad@s em seu amor, nos reunimos aqui hoje para adorar, orar, cantar, e acima de tudo, para lembrarmos quem somos como seus filhos e filhas e animarmos para continuar nesse caminho pelo qual tu tens nos chamado. Obrigada Deus pela dádiva de reunirmos. Obrigada pela dádiva de comunidade.

Ao refletir sobre essa semana passada, damos conta de que seu Espírito estava presente em todos os momentos, mesmo naqueles que nós não percebemos. Ao enfrentar a semana que está nos esperando, cultive em nós um espírito de consciência, de modo que, mesmo no meio do dia mais caótico, nós não percamos nenhum momento de graça sequer que cruza o nosso caminho. Que estes momentos de graça sejam suficientes para sustentarmos e empoderarmos a seguir na caminhada.

A verdade, Deus, é que às vezes não temos a menor ideia de onde estamos indo, nem o que estamos fazendo. Nós nos cansamos de ser fies. Ansiamos por frutas que talvez não possamos ver e ansiamos para um reino que parece estar só um pouquinho além do nosso alcance. Mas mesmo assim, existe um porém. Mesmo que nós não possamos saber se estamos fazendo as coisas certas e embora a estrada pareça interminável na nossa frente, nós sabemos que o Senhor caminha conosco e que, na verdade, andar com a gente é tudo que quer fazer. Obrigado por ser nosso companheir@ de estrada.

Ao longo do caminho, há muito pelo qual agradecer. Para o presente de riso e conversa, para a abundância de momentos simples que nos trazem alegria. Obrigada pela dádiva da amizade. Para aqueles que nos apoiam, lembrando-nos de quem nós somos quando nós tão facilmente esquecemos. Para aquelas que nos tomam pela mão quando perdemos o nosso caminho. Que nós sejamos capazes de refletir ao mundo todo o amor que nos foi dado. Dá-nos a força para caminhar lado a lado de todos aqueles e aquelas com quem tu tens nos chamado a caminhar. Que os nossos pés nunca se cansem, que as nossas almas sejam renovadas, e que os nossos corações possam ter a paz de saber que está sempre com a gente.

Jesus, Emanuel, quem sempre estive e sempre estará conosco, pedimos todas estas coisas em seu nome, aquele que nos ensinou a orar dizendo …