Advent...

(This is a thing I wrote for our Advent service tonight. A couple of people have asked for it, so I thought I'd just post it. Sometimes when I cut and paste from word, it gets a little messed up. So please excuse the apparent typos.)

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Sometime around the beginning of October our culture places its collective foot on the accelerator and pushes down hard. It wants to get to Christmas as fast as possible.

Advent is us putting our foot on the brakes.

Advent is about waiting. Waiting with pregnant anticipation.

Advent is us looking around and seeing who we are, where we are, and what we need….and waiting.

Advent is us looking around and seeing who we are. We are many things. Above all else we are children of, followers of, lovers of…God.

Advent is us looking around and seeing where we are. Many of us are in the land of despair, of grief, of sorrow.

Advent is us looking around and seeing what we need. We need to be rescued. Rescued from the land of despair, grief, and sorrow.

During the time of Advent we look back, and remember. We remember a time and a people…our people…who were in need of rescue…and who were rescued. The Song of Zechariah: “He set the power of salvation in the center of our lives, and in the very house of David his servant, Just as he promised long ago through the preaching of his holy prophets: Deliverance from our enemies and every hateful hand; Mercy to our fathers, as he remembers to do what he said he'd do, What he swore to our father Abraham-- a clean rescue from the enemy camp, So we can worship him without a care in the world, made holy before him as long as we live.

During the time of Advent we look forward, in anticipation of our future deliverance and take heart. The words of John: “I saw Heaven and earth new-created. Gone the first Heaven, gone the first earth, gone the sea. I saw Holy Jerusalem, new-created, descending resplendent out of Heaven, as ready for God as a bride for her husband. I heard a voice thunder from the Throne: "Look! Look! God has moved into the neighborhood, making his home with men and women! They're his people, he's their God. He'll wipe every tear from their eyes. Death is gone for good--tears gone, crying gone, pain gone--all the first order of things gone." The Enthroned continued, "Look! I'm making everything new. Write it all down--each word dependable and accurate." Then he said, "It's happened. I'm A to Z. I'm the Beginning, I'm the Conclusion. From Water-of-Life Well I give freely to the thirsty. Conquerors inherit all this. I'll be God to them, they'll be sons and daughters to me.”

As the people of long ago, we wait. We wait for a child. For a king. For rescue. For love, hope, peace, and joy, we wait. With enormous expectation, we wait.

Death is the worst, but by no means the only form of loss.

Of all the people who have reached out to comfort me over the past few weeks, only a handful know the scope of my Autumn of Loss.

I'm pretty much an open book. It's not hard to get to know me. Of course there are things underneath the surface that remain hidden, but everyone contains multitudes. I am not unique in that regard. But for the most part I'm a pretty simple person. I want to be happy. I want to know God. I want you to like me. That's basically it. And that makes me a person who makes friends fairly easily.

As I get older I realize who I am and who I'm not. I'm not a social butterfly. I'm not someone who inspires action among the masses.

I am someone you'd want to watch "Ed" with. I am a fan of friendships that breathe life into my soul by virtue of their simplicity and vulnerability.

I chose three.
In August, one took his bride to Germany.
In October, the feet of one became jubilant.
Tomorrow, another leaves.

Those few that know how deep this cuts don't say anything, but I know they know. They are the ones with the most tender looks, the most understanding hugs. They refuse to try and make things better with their words. They know that suggesting "replacements" is just salt in the wound.

I'll just let this taper off right..... here.

Today, I post twice...

I've got to say something...

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY JASON AND CHRISTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I LOVE Y'ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Respectfully,

Craig.

Being Known...

David, being better with words than most people in the world, put it well-- it really is a beautiful cemetery. He has two large trees on either side of him. One has a perfect indentation for sitting and talking to him. It's actually quite comfortable. And if you haven't been there yet, the rumors are true-- It's across the street from a playground. With a soccer field on the other side. Can you believe it?

And it's just off of LaSalle. LaSalle! Other than Franklin, LaSalle is probably the ugliest major street in Waco. Then you make a turn off of 5th, and you are surrounded by beauty. The night his dad mentioned a beautiful cemetery right off LaSalle, I thought he was probably mistaken. The only beautiful thing off LaSalle is University Parks and University Parks is only beautiful because it takes you to I-35 and away from Waco.

I realize the subjectivity and improvability of this statement, but I just have to make it. Today may have been the most beautiful day ever in the history of Waco, TX. Sun. Seventy Five degrees. Not a cloud in the sky. Cool breeze. Colorful.

I visited him today. It was the first time I went without crying. It was also the first time I went without sharing him with someone else. His is a popular sight.

Being close friends with Kyle the pastor, I knew I had to share him with others. I didn't mind. I knew the joy he brought to everyone. Usually when I drive up to see him now, I'll wait back a little if someone else is with him.

I don't say much. He knows.
He says nothing. He doesn't need to.

Ours was one of those special gift-of-a-friendships. One that, unfortunately, most people don't have. One where I never had to know what he thought about me. I knew. He told me.

Go, and do likewise. Spend Thanksgiving telling your family and friends how much you love them. Pour it on lavishly. Be embarrassing. Be foolish.

Live life to the fullest.

Something to Read...

So I've become kind of a connoisseur of books on grief these days. I never knew how plentiful they are, and I work in a bookstore.

One that has really meant a lot to me is "Lament for a Son," written by Nicholas Wolterstorff. It's a little book that has his short reflections after the death of his son at age 25 in a mountain climbing accident. Wolterstorff has given words to my pain. If you're home for Thanksgiving and have some free time, you should grab you a copy.

Here's something from it...

"Someone said to Claire, 'I hope you're learning to live at peace with Eric's death.'

Peace, shalom, salaam. Shalom is the fullness of life in all dimensions. Shalom is dwelling in justice and delight with God, with neighbor, with oneself, in nature. Death is shalom's mortal enemy. Death is demonic. We cannot live at peace with death.

When the writer of Revelation spoke of the coming of the day of shalom, he did not say that on that day we would live at peace with death. He said that on that day 'There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.'

I shall try to keep the wound from healing, in recognition of our living still in the old order of things. I shall try to keep it from healing, in solidarity with those who sit beside me on humanity's mourning bench."

Losing my Illusion...

On the day it happened I was working in Children's Church. I had the little kids-- the boys and a two year old girl. I was teaching the lesson of the baby Moses on flannel board. Remember those things? They still capture kids attention, decades after they caught mine. (I use the word "teach" loosely. I was mainly trying to narrate the story while the boys made the characters do what they wanted them to do.)

The music from the sanctuary stopped abruptly. I didn't think much of it.

A few seconds later the mother of the little girl came in. She said she wanted to be with her daughter. Someone was electrocuted.

A few weeks earlier a cover fell off one the ceiling lights, almost hitting someone in the crowd. It was harmless, just a piece of plastic.

I told myself this fell into that category.

Then others came into the nursery. Jamie told me it was Kyle.

All I could do was return to the flannel board to finish the story. I was afraid. I told God to let my fear be my prayer. I said that over and over. Let my fear be my prayer.

Much of the rest is a blur. Someone came in and said they were taking him to the hospital. Jen wanted me to take the kids home. I pulled the car around the back, loaded them up, and headed to their house.

Let my fear be my prayer.

Somewhere in the midst of getting the kids out, the story was being passed around that he still had a pulse.

Let my fear be my prayer. He still has a pulse. Let my fear be my prayer.

He didn't have a pulse, but that's what I was told so that's what I was going to believe.

After being home for a few moments many people came over to help out. Tracey got a call. She called me outside. I saw her face and knew.

Meg rode with me to the hospital. Tracey hadn't said anything. I knew. But still, she hadn't said anything.

As we approached the hospital I told myself that if I stayed in the car, it wouldn't have to be true.

Let my fear be my prayer. He still has a pulse. If I stay in the car, it wouldn't have to be true. Let my fear be my prayer.

I got out of the car.

Tonight was our Thanksgiving Love Feast. A lot of people have been writing very moving and raw and wonderful things about looking for him. (Like HERE.)

Tonight I caught myself laughing at something, then turning my head to look for him.

I was looking for him.

I wished at that moment I was still in the car holding on to my illusion that he still had a pulse and that God would hear my prayer.

What I Want You To Know...

During those two days many people I haven't seen in quite a while came up to me, offered a hug and their condolences, and then said "I keep up with you through your blog."

Whatthewhothewhat?

I suspected I had a readership of 8-10, but apparently I was wrong. So, out of pure, unadulterated vanity, I installed a site meter.

Wow. There are a lot of you's out there.

Here's me using your attention for what I hope is good:

You obviously spend at least a moderate amount of time on the internet, which is good. We need to be informed. Many of you have run across this guy named "Paul Proctor," and have peppered Emergent blogs with your ire towards him.

Do me a favor. Stop. Let this be the last time you consider responding to this guy. I know this is hard, but try to let this be the last time you even give him another inch of your thought space. Mr. Proctor thinks he's right, thinks he has God on his side. He (and his readers) thought that before Kyle died, they'll probably be thinking that up until their own deaths. I know people like this. (I grew up in East Texas, remember?) They operate in their own angry universe and have created for themselves a shell of protection (their literal-and-furious interpretation of Scripture) that shields them from things like common sense and the Love of Jesus.

Becoming angry at this guy and trying to reason with him is not living, and it's definitely not living well.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got two turkeys to make.