Advent Day 19: How Long, O Lord of the Universe?

Written some 700 years before the birth of Jesus, the Book of Micah records this prophetic statement for today's advent verses:

"But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah,
though you are small among the clans of Judah,
out of you will come for me
one who will be ruler over Israel,
whose origins are from of old,
from ancient times.

Therefore Israel will be abandoned
until the time when she who is in labor bears a son,
and the rest of his brothers return
to join the Israelites.

He will stand and shepherd his flock
in the strength of the Lord,
in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God.
And they will live securely, for then his greatness
will reach to the ends of the earth.

And he will be our peace
when the Assyrians invade our land
and march through our fortresses.
We will raise against them seven shepherds,
even eight commanders..."

- Micah 5:2-5

Seven hundred years. Entire continents were unknown to western civilization 700 years ago.  It is incredible to consider the length of time between this prophecy of a coming Messiah and the actual arrival of Jesus, scrolls carried from priest to priest throughout the centuries, each generation anticipating a Savior.

Such a long time to wait. At least it feels that way when viewed through the lens of our lifespans. My children can't wait for Christmas. They want a toy at the store now.  But to wait a year, or two, or a decade, or a century for a promise that might not be delivered within our own lifetimes... how can anyone bear it?

In the grander scheme of things, 700 years is nothing.  Using the most recent scientific measurements, astronomers figure the universe in all its enormity is about 13.77 billion years old.  That's 13,770,000,000 years.  The gradual unfolding of creation to this point in time is impossible to fathom and makes 700 years pass in the blink of an eye.

That makes waiting six more days for Christmas quite a bit easier to bear, don't you think, my children?

:)

If you've felt overcome by the rush of the season, take a minute to watch this video.

Widening the lens from the immediate rush and demand on our time and resources beyond our own small sphere, beyond Earth, our solar system, our galaxy, beyond beyond beyond delivers a moment of speechlessness, awe, wonder, and mystery that sometimes feels missing in a season of debate over the ethnicity and existence of Santa, the "War on Christmas," the ongoing and ever-present threat of darkness and evil appearing in the news.  If our hearts ache and yearn for peace, beg, "How long, O Lord, how long?" how incredible is it that the God of this Universe in all of its sprawl and eternity delivers his peace and love on such an individual level as well?

To bring us back around to Micah's prophecy, give a final listen to this old hymn, and consider these verses:

"O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight."

To witness a few more images that help reposition where we sit in the grand scheme of things, check out the 2013 Hubble Space Telescope Advent Calendar.

Advent Day Five: But They Were Childless

"In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly. But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both very old. Once when Zechariah’s division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside." - Luke 1:5-10

You might know what comes next, but it might not hurt to pause here and remember that Zechariah and Elizabeth didn't know what would come next.  

After our second miscarriage, I remember my disdain for God.  I burned with anger at him.  To hearken back to yesterday's post, I stomped my feet and yelled to my father in heaven, It's not fair!  Even while I threw myself into work and professed to be "okay," I found myself retreating inward, into the chasm of grief and doubt where I spent most of my thought life asking, Why? Why? Why? Who are you anyway?!

That seemed like a long season.  I didn't know whether we'd ever conceive and carry a child to term.  What I thought I knew to be true about God was shaken.  I don't think most of our family members and friends knew the burden I carried (well, that's probably not true: I'm not exactly a private person).  We don't all go around broadcasting our fears and our doubts, our inner struggles and wrestling with God.  But that doesn't mean the wrestling match isn't taking place.  

Underneath the exterior, underneath their obedience and their righteousness, Zechariah and Elizabeth struggled with infertility.  They passed their childbearing years childless.  Maybe it had been decades.  

Do you think Zechariah ever raised his fists to the heavens?  Do you think Elizabeth ever collapsed in a heap of shuddering flesh and bones on the floor of her home, grief a puddle of tears?  I bet they did.

Maybe Zechariah and Elizabeth had long since abandoned hope of ever conceiving.  Maybe the hurt of that burden had yet to wear off.  Maybe they had settled into their lives as husband and wife, joyfully serving, the pang of childlessness dull-- maybe so far muted they hardly noticed the absence anymore.  

How silent, how unresponsive did God seem during those years?

And yet, in the mercy of stillness, in the grace of silence, Zechariah entered the temple of the Lord.

Sometimes, all we can do is enter the temple of the Lord.  And be still.  And wait.  Wait for glory to fall.  Wait for the Light.  Wait for the peace that passes understanding.  

Advent Activity: Look through Family Photo Albums

This might be one of my favorite activities during the advent season.  Each year since we moved to Ashland, I've put together an annual family photo album using Shutterfly, so now we have something like six photo albums cataloging all that we've done together the last six years.  It is heartwarming to reminisce together with our children, especially as they recall memories they've made and invent memories they couldn't possibly have acquired on their own.  Flipping through these photo albums reminds us of our family's story.  They map out our family's adventures through all of the valleys and mountains to where we have arrived today.

Advent: The First Candle (Poem)

In November, our lips trembled
with the breath of winter etched
in frost across the windows.
We gazed at dawn’s arrival
casting bands of icy glitter
on brass and copper oak leaves
holding tight to frozen branches,
as if they could stop the turn
of seasons, suspend the spin
of Earth around the sun, but
nothing can slow this orbit
toward the solstice. Oh, Christ,

the prophets spoke about a day
when darkness would pass away.
Shadows broaden, days shorten.
We’ve waited the way I watched
my garden for the reddening
of tomatoes, the fleshing out
of vegetables, how I’ve held
my swollen abdomen, the fullness
of time a season, a month a week
a day an hour away. Now,

we unravel pine swag garland
and drape it on the mantle, melt
a candle, send a signal in a flaming
flicker, hope hot enough to kill
the darkness. Here comes the turning
of the solstice, here comes the night,
the star, and then the etching
of a few more minutes to stand
in the slow burn of frost,
the gradual stretching of the light.