Sunday Stretch: Vol. 59 - Advent 2

Start off your week with a grounded take on Bible, prayer, the world, and your life ...

Dear Readers,

It’s the second Sunday in Advent, and we light a candle for PEACE.

And so of course all I can think about today is the weight of the devastation, death, carnage, loss, violence, and fear for families all across the Holy Land, in Israel, Gaza, and the West Bank.

This morning on my social media feed I saw a profile come across from a woman who I met in Bethlehem, a member of the dwindling population of Christians in the West Bank. I thought about the depth of concern I had for her and for her family, for the churches in Bethlehem and their pastors, all of whom had inspired me so much when we stayed with them on a seminary trip to the Holy Land almost 14 years ago. I wanted to know if they were OK. I also knew they weren’t. How could they be, even after all their community has endured across the centuries?

I thought too of the fear I’d seen in the eyes of our Jewish neighbors here in Minneapolis, as we met for a parents meeting at school on Oct. 11. I had to make sure that date was correct, because for me, so far from the Middle East, the days have begun to run together, such that it seems every morning our news stories begin with horror from Israel and Gaza, with weeping parents and children and suffering babies.

A baby. How can Jesus be born to our cruel world?

For some reason, in past years when leading congregations during Advent, I would often forget the theme of the second week. I’d think it was Faith when it’s actually Peace. I find this year the two are especially connected for me. A vain American Christian hope for “peace” in the Middle East - what can it even mean anymore? What can I say to my Palestinian and Jewish friends that doesn’t sound completely superfluous and ill-informed? What is peace, anyway? If not sometimes an excuse for those in power to demand our silence.

And still somehow we remember that God is born again a baby. In those early days of motherhood, I felt anything but peaceful. When my newborn boys would finally sleep, my mind would race with all the things that could potentially be going wrong, and all the things wrong with me. I tried to be more peaceful, the second time with Josh, but still just six weeks after a C-section I was setting alarms for 5:30 a.m. to do a workout called Insanity on the back patio before scampering back to work at church.