Good-Bye 2023

The last Sunday in December has arrived — the last Sunday of 2023. We are on the threshold of a new year, as yet untouched and untrodden. New Year’s Eve is simultaneously a time to look back and a time to look forward.

 

Reflecting on the year I am aware of how short and fragile our time on earth is—Andy and I have both lost people we loved this year. Life is our biggest gift and should never be taken for granted.  Our life should be cherished and made to count in whatever way we can do that.

 

I’ve always liked the analogy of life as a journey. The journey may be smooth or have rough spots, have ups and downs, sorrows and joys, but that is all part of our humanness. 

 

In the last couple of days I have already read on social media the sentiment “I can’t wait for 2023 to be over”. That is really sad. It puts the focus on the downs and sorrows of the journey rather than remembering the many joys and blessings. 

 

The short lectionary passage today is the story of the shepherds (Luke 2.15-21) who after a visitation from an angel went to find the new-born child. It is a story that gives little or no detail. The reader is not told whether they were male or female shepherds nor how many of them were present. All the reader is told is that these shepherds made a journey. I have no idea how long it took them or who cared for the sheep in their absence. I suspect it took hours, if not days, to get from the hills where the sheep were grazing to the city where Mary gave birth. 

 

Another consideration for the visitation of the shepherds, especially the male ones, is that Mary after childbirth would be ritually unclean (Lev. 12). Mary would be subject to the usual purification regulations. These lasted for forty days during which Mary would need to remain mostly isolated and untouched, even if people visited and touched her bed, clothing or person they would become unclean for a period and have to perform ritual washings. It makes one wonder about the timing of the shepherds’ journey as visiting before Mary’s purification in temple would be quite a commitment. To go knowingly into the presence of an unclean woman would render them unclean. 

 

I know I have said this before, but I think that the practicality of childbirth is a greatly neglected part of the Christmas story. It is important that the miracle of childbirth and all the pain, blood, water, time and messiness that entails it are not diminished. It is important that what is normally considered women’s experience is not sterilized, side-lined and kept hidden behind a closed stable door. 

 

I also think it is important to highlight Mary’s response to the shepherd’s visit and their telling of “what had been told them about this child (17). Mary “treasured all these things in her heart” (18). 

 

I love that idea, special moments, special joys being treasured in one’s heart. As I thought about it, I can’t number how many times Andy and I have thought about and reminisced about special times in our own lives. They are close to our hearts. These treasures are highlights as we journey through life.

 

So today, as the western world says, “Goodbye 2023”, I encourage all who read this to join me in thinking back to the joys and blessings of the year, to treasure the memories in our hearts. 

 

Then tomorrow, welcome 2024 as a new friend, arms flung wide open in anticipation of embracing all the challenges and joys the new year will bring.

 

 

 

  

 

I’m pondering a great Advent challenge for this week — looking for joy, finding joy, sharing joy. 

 Today is Gaudet Sunday, the mid-point of Advent when the pink candle in the Advent wreath is lit. It represents joy. It stands amongst the purple candles of hope, peace and love as a reminder that even in a season of expectation and preparation joy can burst forth. 

 

Joy often breaks in unexpectedly turning darkness to light. It is a moment, an instance in time, captured by an intensity of well-being and happiness that can only be described of as pure joy. 

 

The readings today encapsulate that feeling of joy. The texts include an extra reading the Magnificat, the outpouring which follows the wonderful meeting of Elisabeth and Mary (Luke 1: 39-56).

 

As Elisabeth hears Mary greet her on arrival, she feels the quickening of her baby. She acknowledges it with those well-known words, “the child in my womb leaped for joy.” This is followed by Mary’s rejoinder, “My spirit rejoices in God my saviour.” (41). It is a moment of joy for both women. Although, the breaking in of joy was a moment in time as the baby danced in the womb, the impact was huge in the lives of both women. It brought forth an outpouring of praise. I’m sure the experience remained with both women for a lifetime.

 

Joy always seems to elicit a response in others. As Mary arrived it evoked a joyous response from Elisabeth, which in turn, brought forth a further response from Mary. Joy seems to bring forth more joy.

 

The second gospel reading today (John 1:6-8, 19-28) jumps to when the fruit of those two pregnancies meet about thirty years later. Mary and Elisabeth obviously shared a close relationship. Therefore, John must have grown up knowing the story of his cousin Jesus’ birth —a cousin only about three or four months younger. I wondered, what must that have felt like? Did John always have that surge of joy that caused him to leap in the womb whenever they met? Or were they just ordinary boys growing into adulthood together. Either way John clearly knows the role assigned to him.

 

John was not the light, merely bearing witness to the light (7). John also clearly stated he was not the Messiah nor a prophet of old (20-21). John knew exactly who he was. John knew his role and the importance of it. John had a voice and used it to proclaim rightness. I think John is a great example for us of how to live. 

 

John looked for joy, found joy and shared joy. I like to think of John standing in the midst of the crowds proclaiming “I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness” with his face radiating joy as he heralds events about to begin. 

 

During this third Sunday in Advent, and in the approaching Christmas season, I hope many will look for joy, find joy and share joy. I hope there will be many moments to treasure. I hope the privilege of those experiences will bring deep and lasting enjoyment. It may only be a moment in time, a fleeting happening, yet the memory is precious. Joy came, and because of it, life is a little richer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Journeying through Advent.

So, our journey through Advent begins — a time of preparation which moves us towards an outburst of life and light as the birth of the Christ child draws near. 

 

Our Advent wreath is adorned with four new pink and purple candles representing hope, peace, joy, love and the central white Christ candle. Each ready to be lit in turn, a reminder that the journey through Advent continues.

 

Today we light the first purple candle representing hope. Hope is part of being human, each of us will be hoping for different things depending on personal circumstances. Hope is what keeps us going. I like to think of Advent hope as a bit like the star shining in the darkness, leading the magi onwards. 

 

Today’s lectionary reading paints a metaphorical picture of suffering and hardship (Mark 13: 24-37). A time full of darkness and catastrophe. A time when it seems like the world is ending. As I read the text, I could not help but think of the images coming out of Israel, Gaza and Ukraine — so much destruction. For those on the ground it must feel like they are living this text. 

I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to live amid a war. 

I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have family and friends remaining in those war zones. 

I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have had loved ones killed in the fighting.  

Our hope and prayers are for an end to the violence with peace prevailing.

 

The text does offer the hope of better things to come. The passage uses the illustration of the fig tree putting forth shoots offering the anticipation of summer after the cold (28). The fig tree has used the time of preparation well. 

 

With the offer of hope in this extended metaphor, comes the message to keep awake. Of course, as with the rest of this passage this cannot be taken literally, human beings are created to need sleep for restoration and rejuvenation. But those two words —keep awake — capture the meaning of Advent. Watching and waiting, encompassing the dual themes of waiting for the birth of the Christ child and watching in hope for the future. 

 

Watching and waiting have a quietness about them — a sense of peace yet with an increasing anticipation. I hope this Advent will be a rich and meaningful time for each person reading this. I hope the time of preparation will be well spent. It has a very Celtic feel about it, the year in the Northern Hemisphere beginning in the cold, hidden, underground waiting for the time to burst forth. The beginning of the cycle of life.

 

I hope for each of you this Advent will take on a new, deeper meaning as you journey through these next four weeks.

(Photo — landing in Kennedy airport, December 2023)