As Christmas draws near, here is some music to welcome Christ among us.

How is God magnified in you?  How do you see God being magnified in the world around you?  What does Mary’s song say to you?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KbjOezfE02g

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y9QtEb8XNr4

This Sunday we’ll talk about the Magnificat, the song of praise Mary sings in the Gospel of Luke.  But before that in the text is the Annunciation, when Gabriel visits Mary to announce the good news of Jesus.  This year the Salt Project came out with a wonderful film celebrating this story, with help from a small pig named Hamlet.  Great for all ages — check it out!

The combined WCUC and Holy Family Choirs blessed us with their presence this past Sunday, singing beautiful arrangements of traditional Advent hymns, selections from Handel’s Messiah, and more. Many who attended were especially touched by the closing selection, when the choir surrounded us with candelight and the song “Light of Christ.”  Here’s another version of that song to enjoy:

Here are some pieces to accompany us as we wait and hope this week.  What music gives you hope while we wait for the fulfillment of God’s realm on earth?

If you were enjoying a pleasant, well-fed stupor in the hours and days after Thanksgiving, the season of Advent has arrived to throw cold water in your face.  The scriptures we read this past Sunday (Romans 13:-14 and Matthew 3:1-12) don’t feature angels, babies, or stars. Instead, we hear “Wake up! Do not revel in debauchery, quarreling and jealousy!” and “Repent, you brood of vipers!”

It’s not nice to be yelled at. The urgency of these texts can feel exhausting, because most of us have enough urgency in our lives already. We have a long list of unfulfilled responsibilities that grows even longer at this time of year. We’re busy caring for those we love and trying to care for ourselves.We’re busy sending cards, welcoming guests, observing traditions, and acting cheerful, even if we’re really stressed-out or sad. We’re busy — and if we’re not, something tell us that we should be, just to keep up appearances.

But the wake-up call we get this week, this cold Advent faceful of water, isn’t about our normal responsibilities, or our holiday to-do list. Instead we hear from a foul-smelling, fly-ridden, crazy-eyed prophet. He doesn’t care if we meet our deadlines. No one who wears camel’s hair and eats insects is very concerned about other people’s expectations. Instead, he’s asking us to put all that other stuff aside to wake up to the immanent, magnificent, life-changing presence of God.

John’s words are harsh. But all of us need a bracing pep talk now and then to keep our priorities straight. We need a voice that’s strange and powerful enough to break through our everyday. It’s only then that we can fight against the nagging voice that asks us to do, or be, the wrong kind of more. It’s only then that we can defy expectations that lead us to anxiety and despair. It’s only then that we can wake up to the kingdom of heaven all around us.

So whenever you take a look at your watch or your clock, try to see John’s face instead. When you’re writing down your list of tasks, add in a reminder: “The Kingdom of Heaven is Near!” May we all receive this gift of God, this strange and smelly prophet, and wake up to the presence of God all around us.

Here are some tunes to help us wake up this week to the prophets’ Advent promises.  What music helps you wake up to God’s presence and promise?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JCULWK4tNuc

How can we hold some space in this busy season to prepare spiritually for Christmas?  Stay posted for resources here, and please join us this Sunday at 9:45 a.m. for our first Advent worship!

Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel: you have visited your people; you have set us free. You have sent us a saving power, as holy prophets predicted long ago. You have shown us faithful love, keeping the holy promise you made our ancestors. You have freed us to serve you without fear, and to stand before you in righteousness all our days. Now may the dawn from on high break upon us, giving light to all who sit in darkness, and guiding our feet into the way of peace. Amen.  Zechariah’s Song, Luke 1:68-79

Our denomination has been fundraising to help support those in need following Typhoon Haiyan. We hope to raise $250,00 to support relief efforts. Learn more and donate here. Lord, you walk with the mourner, the refugee, the poor, and the hungry.  Teach us also to accompany our sisters and brothers. Amen.

The Lord God formed Adam from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and Adam became a human being.          Genesis 2:7

To me, you will be unique in all the world.  To you, I shall be unique in all the world.                                                                                              Antoine de Saint-Exupery

My brother died seven years ago after a massive stroke. His life had not been easy and so most of us looked upon his death as a release from the many torments he endured for almost 70 years. He and I were not close as children and I hadn’t seen much of him as an adult. But when we heard the news of his stroke, we took the train to Philadelphia to be with him for his last breaths. And that is the memory that stays with me: his last breaths.

For three days we took turns sitting in his room, watching him breathe; or, more accurately, listening to him breathe. After a while I found myself counting the seconds between each breath. I was knitting at the time, a prayer shawl that would be given to someone in need, someone, perhaps, like my brother. Unconsciously, I would stop and hold the needles still until the next breath came, and then start knitting again. For some time the space between the breaths seemed constant; seven or eight seconds. Then, a bit longer each time. Until another raspy breath came. This vigil reminded me if something, but it wasn’t until days later that I remembered what it was.

Over ten years ago, in Australia, I was in the delivery room with my daughter, as she labored with her first child. Again, I was knitting, this time a baby blanket that I was hurrying to finish before the baby appeared. I was counting then too; counting the minutes between contractions, halting my needles each time to pay close attention to my watch. Over time, as of course it would, the space between contractions grew shorter and shorter, until, at last, the small, wet head appeared and a life began.

The two events were so alike, and so different. For, at my daughter’s bedside, I witnessed a birth and a first breath. At my brother’s, the end of a life, and the last breath. Each time, I was counting, watching, waiting. But with my brother, the moments between the breaths lengthened, until there were no more. With my daughter, the intervals shortened until the final contraction and the first breath came.

Breath. Most of the time we take it for granted. Only when we have difficulty breathing, whether from a cold, polluted air or because of a more serious condition, do we really pay attention to our breath. Breath, though, is synonymous with life. It is our first and greatest gift from God; it is the last sign of life in the body. And that, I think, is what I learned as witness to these two separate events, one being the inverse of the other. Not a grand “aha’, not the answer to the big question of life after death, although I could have wished it so, but something much simple, beautiful in it own way. I saw that there was symmetry in the design of life. Just as each birth begins a new life, one never before known or seen, “unique in all the world,’ so too, if this symmetry is to remain constant, each death would also begin a new life, one of a different sort, one we have yet seen or known. Parents who wait for their baby say, “We are expecting.” So too, might we not also say that we wait, in expectation, for a life that is to come.

Polly

This article first appeared in the Concord Journal, March 12, 2009.