Wilderness Walking

Our pastor spoke this Sunday about John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness, a place where all the usual rules are thrown into confusion. The mores of the day were set by priests and rulers. Everyone operated under their combined orders. Priests set the rules, according to their perceptions of obedience to God, and people followed them, or they didn’t, with consequences.

And then people heard about a man named John the Baptist who was preaching in the wilderness [Luke 3]. Word spread and more went out to see and hear him. John, it seemed, was out to turn everything upside down, smashing old rules, calling the religious leaders of the day to task, even going to the length of calling them white sepulchres. He told people of the army to be satisfied with their wages, warned the religious leaders about the practices they followed. Called others to share a coat if they had two, and for the tax collectors, to collect no more than what they were due.

The priests weren’t liking that, I’m sure. And neither were some members at the king’s palace. What’s more, John announced that he was a forerunner, that someone else was coming, and that he was only preparing the way. It didn’t bode well for John. Though many were willing to change, there were others who felt more comfortable following the rules they knew. A wilderness indeed.

Waiting this Advent season may seem like wandering in the wilderness, considering history leading up to that day. We wander around (or rush around), getting ready for the next big season and wonder what to do with ourselves. It feels that way in grief too — like a place where people feel unfocused for a period of time before finding their way.

I, too, feel like I’m there, after the death of my mother. It’s hard to focus on some of the tasks I’m used to doing. Goals don’t seem as sharp at the moment, though some have been set in motion. Even when we know something’s going to change, we’re never ready for it, not even after having Mom for this long. Thus we take the time we need to grieve and slowly move ahead, one foot in front of the other. Maybe not always totally focused, but doing something.

 

Mom at a family wedding in 2012

No one needs to rush through Advent, though the shopping malls might prove otherwise. I’m glad to have a lighter gift buying load this year and am trying to take the season at a slower pace, doing what I can and letting other things go. Being more contemplative. As our minister’s wife said to me on Sunday, we often put more expectations on ourselves than we need to. Preparing the way to Christmas takes time.

Mom won't be rushing anymore. She's probably dancing with Dad in Heaven. I'll try to keep that image of them being together again as I prepare for a season without them.

https://www.carolynwilker.ca/

Carolyn Wilker is an author, editor and storyteller from southwestern Ontario.

A Promise Waiting --Carolyn R. Wilker

Snow falls softly here as I write today. No doubt there’ll be more snow by the end of the day. People were out raking leaves just over a week ago, but soon the cold wind came, shooting like an arrow down the tunnel of the city’s main street.

Tuesday evening I’d been out to meet with writer friends from our critique group, for a little social time before Christmas. On the way back to my car, the wind pushed against me, making me shiver and my teeth chatter. Though I wore a warm winter coat, my legs were cold. I thought, Here comes winter.

Coloured lights remind us that Christmas will come soon and the snow with it. In some points north, I’m sure they have plenty of it.

Winter, in our part of the world, begins near Christmas usually, and the nights are darker. Soon we’ll have the longest night or shortest day of the year, however you want to look at it. At that time of year some folks mark Blue Christmas because of losses they’ve suffered. Others struggle with diminishing sunlight and seasonal affective disorder.

It may also be appropriate to match that early winter in our part of the world with the Advent season in our Christian church—a time of waiting, a time to remember how things were for people before the Christ child came to the world. People were under duress from the Roman government, and now it seemed they wanted even more taxes to pay their way, from common folks who worked hard just to get by. Another census so that all the world could be counted. All their world, as they knew it. It seemed they had little hope.

There had been one proclamation by the prophet Isaiah that a special child would be born. Maybe they believed it and maybe they struggled to see how it could change anything. A child born to one of them to save them from their ruler. It hardly seemed possible. And yet, some held out hope, and few believed when it actually came to be. 

Would anyone believe a young girl called Mary who would carry the baby? Her family? Her fiancée to whom she was promised in marriage? The scandal would have rocked their community, and she was sent away for awhile. To visit an aunt who lived days away. People would not have believed the aunt’s story either. One who had been called to carry another child who would prepare the way for the special baby. An old woman beyond her prime, who’d borne no previous children of their own. Dire circumstances, by human measure.

Except that the two women had a bond beyond their blood relationship. Oh, how they must have rejoiced when they spent the time together. They had hope for the world, though neither one would know just how things would go. Hope was important.

And so this is the opening to that story that we mark every year beginning in late November and into December, until the night of the baby’s birth. Seems appropriate, doesn’t it?

We’re not quite at Christmas yet. In the middle of the shopping, decorating, baking and pre-Christmas gatherings, let’s remember the long time of waiting and of the hope people held in a nearly hopeless situation—before the special baby came to make his place in the world. A promise waiting. A promise in the works. As the hymn writer declared in 1710 and a 15^th Century processional put to music,

“O Come, O Come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here until the son of God appear.”

                                                     

                                           

http://www.carolynwilker.ca/

Little Drummer Boy Fiasco (by Peter A. Black)

This morning I’ve taken to wistful reminiscing . . . yep, again. I guess it’s a sign of my times. Numerous and varied events surrounding the Advent and Christmas season have been part of my life from as far back as I can remember. However, from the not-too-distant past was the annual Inter-Church Advent Service in Watford, Ontario. Let me share a memory of one, with you.

Credit: drumcircle_org Google

Typically the service format included a musical item from each of the participating congregations, such as a rendition by a choir, or a group number or solo, or an instrumental. One year (perhaps 2009) the late Rev. Fred Darke, who taught drumming and developed drumming circles, equipped several of the pastors with drums for a clergy contribution. He coached them well; they sounded good. My job was to play the melody and accompaniment on accordion.

Even if I hadn't included the phrase in the title, above, there's no prize for guessing that our piece was The Little Drummer Boy. We practised in a Sunday school room at the United Church and then headed over to Our Lady Help of Christians Catholic Church for the service. Our big moment came. Christine, Fred, Tom, Richard and I jostled into position with our instruments. We got off to a nice start, but the drums seem to beat ever faster with each line.

You-know-Who, ca 48 years ago in

Aberdeen Scotland. 

Someone’s speeding this up, I thought. Boom, booma, boom-boom – I could hardly hear what I was playing. Faster and faster, I kept trying to keep up. I think it’s Tom. Yep, Tom. I’m sure he’s rushing this. But why? This is crazy . . . That’s how my thoughts ran on until the final parumpa-pum-pum. 

It felt like a dizzying race to the finish. Ehm, but why’s everybody looking at me? In truth, the congregation were not only looking, but laughing! And so were we.

If it seemed to most everyone in the sanctuary that the guy playing the accordion was getting carried away, speeding things up, faster and faster, they’d be correct. What was the likely cause?

I quickly reasoned that, surrounded by the four drums in the spacious, lofty sanctuary (compared with the closeness of the classroom where we’d practised), I was reacting to the reverberation of the drum beats. From where I was situated, my ears were bombarded by both the initial drum sounds and the echoes, so that for every beat, it sounded like multiple beats.

So much for hopes of surprising the congregation with our 'wonderful' rendition of that well-loved Christmas song. We’d have been better rehearsing a verse and chorus in the sanctuary before the start of service.

Fact is, at the moment when I needed to fulfil my task well and with clear thinking,

I’d been deceived by the echoes around me.

Life can be like that.

We really do need to be alert to interpret well the cacophony of voices bouncing around us,

invading our personal world.

We can be so wrong at times; and how wrong I was. It certainly induced a laugh, and the unintended joke was on Yours Truly and truly on my account! 😄 

Credit: Google Free

In the rush and crush of preparing for Christmas and Holiday family gatherings and baking and cooking for them, or for community events, and also in preparing for concerts and cantatas and so on, things don’t always go as hoped and planned.

ClickArt

Let us not allow the glitches to steal the joy of the season and it’s central theme, to celebrate the Birth of the Christ Child – the coming into the world of Jesus, our Saviour-Redeemer.

May the Christ of this season be to all of us a source of joy and peace, bringing a fresh experience of God’s love and life into our hearts.

~~+~~

Peter A. Black is a retired pastor – well, sort of retired – and lives in Southwestern Ontario. He writes a weekly inspirational newspaper column, P-Pep! and is author of Raise Your Gaze ... Mindful Musings of a Grateful Heart, and Parables from the Pond -- a children's / family book. ~~+~~