Monday, December 26, 2011

In for the Long Haul

The word that has startled me this Christmas is "longsuffering."  That seems a strange word to emerge in my spirit in the holy time.  This old-fashioned word is often translated "patience" in more contemporary translations of the scriptures, but today I return to the King James Version.  The literalness of long-suffering  speaks to me.  Just imagine, long . . . . . . . . . . suffering.

The word is found in familiar self-revelation of God in the Hebrew texts,  "The Lord, The Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth" (Ex. 34:6, KJV).  The longsuffering of God lies at the heart of healing, forgiveness, and salvation.  God's nature is to suffer long in order to change lives and change the world.

It is no coincidence that we are also called to be a longsuffering people, reflecting the character of the God we serve.  In Galatians 5:22-23, longsuffering is listed as a fruit of the Spirit:  "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law" (Gal. 5:22-23, KJV).  And in Ephesians, the author challenges us with these words, "I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called, with all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love; endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace" (Eph. 4:1-3, KJV).  The church is called to suffer long in faith, hope, and love.
Consider the traditions of the church.  A four-week Advent replaces the longing of God's people through many generations.  Advent is such a brief one-month pregnant time.  Is that really sufficient preparation for the birth of God's holy child?  I realize that Advent entered the church's liturgical calendar rather late . . . but only four weeks?  How does this reflect the longsuffering of God and God's people?

Today (December 26), many are already weary with the Christmas decorations.  Festive lights will soon be turned off.  Many Christmas trees will be recycled by the end of the week; few will remain until Epiphany.  Christmas becomes a single, overloaded day, rather than a holy season in which God comes to share our flesh and our sufferings.  How do our customs reflect the longsuffering of God and God's hope for the church?

There are implications for daily living, too.  If I cannot master some subject, a new language, a musical instrument instantly and effortlessly, I am quick to give up, give out, and give in.  If I cannot drop my excess weight without weeks of disciplined exercise and careful dietary choices, I soon give up, give out, and give in.  If I cannot see an immediate change in the lives of those with whom I serve and the church where I have been called to minister, I am tempted to rush to a new call.  Raising our children, caring for aging parents, serving Christ in the world all require a longsuffering that reflects the very nature of our God.

My Christmas season prayer:  Eternity's God, patient in suffering and in hope, grant me a long-haul faith, so that I never give up on you.  Fill me with your longsuffering love.  Even if I do not see the fulfillment for which I seek, let me not lose heart,  May your longsuffering Spirit sustain me.  May your Holy Child be born to bring new light and enduring peace in your good time.  Amen.

Monday, December 19, 2011

I Remember Christmas

When I served as pastor and teacher of the church at Old Monroe, Missouri, Wilbert would walk from his lake home to worship on Christmas Eve.  Although he had become a member of the Roman Catholic Church sometime after his confirmation, he always came home for Christmas Eve.  His holy pilgrimage was made through snow, ice, and mud.  I recall the year that he fell among the bramble bushes and arrived at the candlelight service a bit tattered from the thorns. 

Years later, I would walk from our country home down the half mile lane to the highway and walk to the 11:00 PM service at Salem United Church of Christ.  After midnight, when the service ended and all the congregants had gone home, I would walk, lantern in hand, back home.  Those were deeply spiritual times with the winter winds quickening my spirit and the moonlight falling across the glistening snow.  Wilbert was my inspiration.  His discipline taught me discipline.  His Christmas pilgrimage informed mine.

I have not yet discovered a new place to walk on Christmas Eve.  Since 2006, I have been adrift, often in transition as Christmas comes, traveling from New Hampshire to Missouri or Florida.  It is a strange rhythm being so far from home on Christmas--too far to walk to the communion table and candlelight worship.

And even so, Christmas comes to me, to us, to a conflicted and confused world.  The Nativity is near.  God always finds a way to be near and to create a home where I may dwell.  The Child is born.  God's peace is here,  Alleluia!