Tag: Advent

Unity in diversity

I have had the pleasure recently of being involved in a multi-contributor project: The Jesse Tree Anthology. The brains behind the project, Rachel Yarworth, has provided a guest blog today, revealing more about how the idea developed, the ups and downs of the process – and why she is so grateful to God for it. I heartily recommend it as an Advent resource – both for individuals but also for families.

There’s a window in Coventry Cathedral that is simply breathtaking. I say ‘a window’ – it’s actually an 85-foot-tall collection of 198 panels of beautiful stained glass. Each panel has its own beauty when you look at it in isolation, but when you stand back and look at the whole window, it is glorious. And I don’t use that word lightly. No two parts are the same, but the whole is made even more glorious because of the variety. For me, that’s the beauty of unity.

It’s a common biblical theme. Think of the “great cloud of witnesses” of Hebrews 11 and 12 – that vast collective of men and women of faith whose different voices and stories all witness to God’s faithfulness. Or the Body of Christ in 1 Corinthians 12 – each part having its own purpose that serves the whole. Or think of the precious anointing oil in Psalm 133:2 – that precious combination of olive oil, myrrh, cinnamon, calamus and cassia, all contributing to make one powerful blend. So it is when God’s beautifully diverse people unite together for the express purpose of glorifying Him.

It was with these ideas in mind that I embarked on my latest publication: The Jesse Tree Anthology. While considering the possibility of writing a ‘Jesse Tree’ resource that specifically focused on how each Bible story pointed to Jesus, I came across an article about taking part in an anthology as a way for self-published authors to get their books before a wider audience. When I read that, I immediately thought of my writer friends who might benefit in this way. And as the anthology concept and the Jesse Tree subject came together, it seemed to be a match made in heaven.

The Jesse Tree explained

You see, the Jesse Tree tradition is all about using the Advent season to retell key stories of Jesus’ ancestors and forerunners: multiple unique accounts of men and women of faith, each revealing the glory of God in a slightly different way. So what better way to present the richness of those multiple stories, than by using multiple different voices to tell them? Voices of modern men and women of faith! Unity in diversity! Like a weaver intertwines multiple strands of warp and weft to form a single piece of beautiful fabric, I pictured the many strands of ancient stories woven together with the many strands of modern voices to make one God-glorifying piece of art.

The process unpacked

Of course, that’s a romantic picture. In practical terms, keeping track of 25 different authors, and what stages they were each at, was a distinctly prosaic reality. Suggesting corrections to writers with more experience than I required me to face up to the crippling shame of Imposter Syndrome. Editing and re-editing and re-editing again relegated the project at times to the realm of sheer hard work.

But eventually we got there, and when I held the first print copy of the book in my hands, I felt fully blessed. I am thrilled with what we have created, and the way all of our hard work has come together to form something beautiful. What is even more precious to me – and I dare suggest, maybe to God too – is the unity that was displayed behind the scenes. When two people needed to withdraw along the way, it was done in grace with no offense held, and God quickly provided others to take their place. When I was at the height of feeling I wasn’t up to leading the project, some of the contributors (who had no idea how I was feeling) contacted me to say they were praying for me and they believed God’s hand was on it all. When the book was almost ready to be printed and I was feeling exhausted and overwhelmed by publicity demands, some of the contributors started posting their own promotions of the book, which brought me to tears by reminding me of the original vision and how they were all carrying it too. 

Each contributor gave of their best to add a lovely, God-glorifying piece of writing, for which I am utterly thankful. But what I appreciate even more is the way they each gave of themselves in diverse ways reflecting their individual graces, to come together as one and produce a unity truly precious in God’s sight. The book is great – I love it. But the unity? That’s been truly glorious.

Rachel Yarworth is the author of Friend of God: The Miraculous Life of an Ordinary Person and The Jesse Tree Anthology. Rachel lives in Worcestershire with her husband Mike, their three sons and their miniature labradoodle. When not writing, Rachel can usually be found home educating her younger two boys, leading a home church or going for long walks in the countryside.

Saying yes to Jesus

I am delighted to welcome Pen Wilcock to my blog today. Her latest book, Into the Heart of Advent, welcomes the reader to join her as she chats to Jesus about all sorts of subjects that perplex her, including homelessness and hospitality, mental health and the challenges of neuro-diversity, as well as poverty. Here she shares with us the first conversation from that book.

I stand in the shop looking indecisively at the cards on display, slowly twirling the revolving rack. I’ve chosen the ones I like, with deer and robins and snow, but I think in all truth I ought to pick out at least a few showing the infant Jesus and his mother. Because that’s what Christmas is all about, right? The nativity, and at the heart of it the Holy Family. The problem is, I don’t like them. Mary looks either demure or mournful, and the baby Jesus stares out reproachfully at our fallen world, raising two fingers in blessing like a miniature boy scout or the youngest member of an extremely secret society.

Someone is standing next to me. I glance over my shoulder not wanting to put pressure upon the patience of another customer ticking off Christmas obligations early. And then I do a double take — “Jesus! Where did you come from? I mean…Hello.” And just like that, there he is again. Himself, who I haven’t seen in ages.

“Stick with the robins,” he suggests. “Those are awful.”

“But, shouldn’t I have at least some nativity ones? Christmas — it’s all about family, isn’t it? Especially your family.”

“My family…” says Jesus: “Look, shall we get out of this shop?”

I pay for the few packs I’m sure I want, shove them into my bag with the TV guide and the oranges, and hurry outside to find him. Then, just like old times, we stroll along the seafront in the wind. 

“This unbreakable connection between family and Christmas comes back to haunt me every year,” I tell him. “I’m divorced, I have a difficult relationship with my step family, and my family of origin — ha! Don’t even go there! There’s nothing like Christmas to rub it all in, that all too familiar ambiance of utter despair. And there are the cards with you as a baby, cradled in Mary’s arms while Joseph stands protectingly beside her.”

Jesus says nothing for a moment, and I glance at him to see his reaction. He grins at me. “Are you even thinking what you’re saying? My mother… reckless prophetess writing protest songs and trying to steer me into her idea of who I should be. My mother conscripting my brothers into getting me sectioned. Joseph thinking best to divorce her before they even began, and introducing his betrothed to his relatives on the night she was due to drop an embarrassingly early baby. Awkward.”

I consider this in silence.

“If there’s one useful take-away from looking at my family,” he adds, “it’s that you just get the hand life deals you. It’s the part you can’t plan, even if you try. Joseph chose cautiously, carefully; he well knew how important it is to find a good wife. He was after a godly woman. But then he got a really godly woman, and that shook his world! Dreams and visions, angels and journeys, soldiers with swords in their hands. He had no idea what he was taking on when he asked Mary to be his wife.”

I stop, turn to face him, pulling my coat closer around me because the wind is so cold. “Then, what — if you could pick out one thing — what would you say Christmas is all about?” 

“Me? My point of view?” He looks at me. “I’d say Christmas is about saying ‘yes’. That’s the one thing Mary and Joseph and I all had in common. Mary said ‘yes’ to the angel, and Joseph — against his own inclination — said ‘yes’ to marrying Mary after all, and I said ‘yes’ to… well, to everything it meant as things unfolded. ‘Yes’ to being here, ‘yes’ to pouring out all my strength to bring healing and hope, ‘yes’ to offering a template for living that’s actually going to work. We said ‘yes’, and that was the thing that brought us together.”

I nod, slowly, taking this in. “That’s what made you family — saying ‘yes’.”

Jesus is never impatient, but I do detect just a tad of frustration in the movement of his hand. “Can we get something clear?” he says. “My family is everyone who says ‘yes’ to life and love. My family isn’t frozen in time back in Nazareth. Anyone who wants can join my family. You are my family, if you want to be. Just bear in mind, when you trace the way things went for Mary and Joseph and me, there is a cost. But isn’t there always, to loving?”

Pen Wilcock writes Christian theology both in the form of fiction and non-fiction. She has worked in hospice, school and prison chaplaincy contexts, and pastored a number of congregations. Her particular focus is Gospel simplicity. She lives very quietly and reclusively in Hastings on England’s south coast. She blogs at Kindred of the Quiet Way.

Advent remembering

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Bible_study___Advent_419658179

I was so moved and challenged by Lucy Mill’s guest post on my site a couple of years ago, that I asked her whether I could use an updated version this year. She kindly obliged…

I often forget about Advent until I’m in it. More accurately, I don’t realise how fast the time has gone and suddenly it’s mid December and – oh. I feel irritated; as if I’ve missed out on something. Is it worth it, now? Or have I missed the Advent bus?

This year I did at least notice when December began, which has helped. I had already made a note, in fact, that I needed to prepare myself for Advent. I know that sounds odd, as Advent is itself a preparation.

Yet I forget to make time and space for that preparing to take place.

I forget a lot of things.

2013 and 2014 were quite significant for me. We’d moved to a new area and a new church (my husband is a Baptist minister). I made new friends as well as trying to nurture the old. The editing role I already had shifted to one with more responsibility and oversight. And it appeared I had created a book. In April 2014, it was published.

How odd! How extraordinary! I was a first-timer, poking it to check if it was real. I’m also a little shy of it now. After years of pouring myself into it, I feel a bit self-conscious. Reading it makes me squirm a little, like watching myself on screen.

I’m tempted to leave it on the shelf, to draw a line under it.

But that would make a mockery of what it is about. Because the book is a confession: of my own forgetfulness. My tendency towards distraction, every day and any day. And it’s also a reflection on the importance of remembering God in our daily lives – what this means.

I can’t draw a line under it; it’s part of my continuing journey and it’s as relevant to me now as it was when I started it.

Because my condition is chronic. I neglect my faith. I don’t open my Bible. Then I feel guilty about how long it’s been since I opened it. So I don’t think about it, and the pages remain unread. I pray occasionally rather than continually. I reach a point where I feel empty, and I am blind enough to wonder why.

I’ve forgotten who I am. I’ve forgotten who I am because I’ve ceased remembering who God is. As a Christian, my identity is in Christ. Yet instead of focusing on Him, my eyes drift. When I squint towards my faith, I do so through a fog of my own distractedness. I don’t allow times for rest and reflection – I fill them up with mediocre diversions. I’m a little scared to face myself and admit my forgetfulness. So I embrace the forgetfulness even more.

It takes discipline to pull myself back, and often it’s the tug of the Holy Spirit – not my own strength. God, in all patience, woos me into returning. I come understanding: whom have I but you? To whom else would I go?

The seasons of the Church are, in many ways, tools for remembering. Advent, focusing on the coming Christ, can be a great antidote for forgetfulness, if we dare to take more than a cursory sip of it. The incarnate Christ came as a fragile baby into a dark world; the resurrected Christ is still present with us now by the power of the Spirit. And the glorified Christ will come again.

Today, in spite of my busyness, in spite of the distractions, I choose to take a breath. I allow myself to remember. A mere moment, perhaps, but it births more moments as I form a habit of pausing.

In these final days of Advent, take a moment to pause. Breathe. Allow yourself to take a handful of stillness. It will help you get perspective on the rest of it – the hurly-burly, the ever-changing, the tugging cords of life.

Reflect on the light that came into the darkness, the light that cannot be put out. And ask for that light to shine on all your distractedness and disrepair.

You haven’t missed the bus. It’s not too late to start a new kind of remembering. Every morning is another chance to draw close to our God of mercy and grace. Seek the One who knows every part of you – the shallow and the deep – and who loves you.

I need to hear this, to reflect on it this Advent season.

Do you?

FH high resLucy Mills is author of Forgetful Heart: remembering God in a distracted world, which was published in 2014. Her second book, Undivided Heart: Finding Meaning and Motivation in Christ, is coming in 2017. Both books are published by Darton, Longman and Todd (www.dltbooks.com).

Lucy writes articles, prayers, poems and worship resources. She’s also been on the editorial team of magnet since 2011 and now works in a freelance capacity as their editorial coordinator, overseeing the team and editorial process.

Lucy’s own website is www.lucy-mills.com

Slowing down during Advent

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I love Christmas. I love the preparations, the waiting, the build up of excitement, the putting up of decorations, the time spent devising menus. I love being involved in the music for carol services, watching our children’s excitement as they prepare for the nativity play. But, if I’m honest, I also struggle with the stress.

I see the start of Advent, and know that it’s a time of reflection – and I long to have the time and space to really enjoy it. However, I’m sad to say, the busyness of life so often crowds in as I rush to finish deadlines before the kids break up from school.

At this point in our calendar I’m focused most on getting our son’s birthday party celebrations organised, with the ever-growing list of jobs to do for Christmas weighing on my mind.

Even among all the activity, though, I can sense a longing in my soul. I am desperate to connect, to find the deeper meaning in this season. And I am desperate for our family’s experience of Advent to go beyond chocolate and calendars.

I am drawn to rediscover the meaning of waiting this Advent. Drawn to the character of Mary, and what this time meant for her. When we first meet her in the gospels she seems like a vulnerable young woman; betrothed to a respectable man in her neighbourhood. But one visit from an angel changes everything.

Mary’s response to that angel, after a few somewhat understandable questions, is simply ‘I am the Lord’s servant… May your words to me be fulfilled.’ (Luke 1:38) Incredible. I could never be that calm.

After visiting Elizabeth, Mary creates what is often referred to as the Magnificat, her song of praise (Luke 1:46-55). Through it she reveals she understands the way that God has blessed her for a special purpose. Mary recognises that God is a champion for the poor and oppressed too, and that God is fulfilling His promises to Abraham (and Israel) through what is to take place.

Whenever I look at those verses I am always taken aback. Granted, Mary has had a visitation from an angel, who has taken the time to explain things to her. Elizabeth has also recognised that the baby inside of Mary is the Lord so Mary has someone she can talk freely with. But still…

While Mary herself recognises she is highly favoured, she’s also in a time of waiting that is filled with so many unknowns. Will Joseph stand by her? If he does, will their society cast them out? And then, once the census was decreed, how will she cope with the long journey to Bethlehem and where will she give birth? (I’m sure that the idea of a stable never once entered her head!) What would her son be like? How would He make Himself known as the Messiah?

So many questions, yet the biblical account doesn’t reveal much about Mary’s state of mind. There seems to be a peace amongst the anticipation while the reality must have been messy, and deeply painful, at times. What surrounds this part of the Christmas story for me is stillness and patience; the atmosphere thick with pregnant hope.

While I pause for a moment to reflect and write this, I pray that I too can find that stillness and patience. That I too can look forward to the coming celebrations with hope, not allowing the stress and busyness that can so easily accompany this season to rob me of the precious gift behind it all.

This blog was originally published on Christian Today.

Advent remembering

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It is my absolute pleasure to welcome writerly friend Lucy Mills for this brilliant guest blog about embracing a new kind of remembering this Advent:

advent candles by Stushie

Advent Candles image by Stushie.

 

I often forget about Advent until I’m in it. More accurately, I don’t realise how fast the time has gone and suddenly it’s mid December and – oh. I feel irritated; as if I’ve missed out on something. Is it worth it, now? Or have I missed the Advent bus?

This year I did at least notice when December began, which has helped. I had already made a note, in fact, that I needed to prepare myself for Advent. I know that sounds odd, as Advent is itself a preparation.

Yet I forget to make time and space for that preparing to take place.

I forget a lot of things.

These past 12 months or so have been quite significant for me. We’ve moved to a new area and a new church (my husband is a Baptist minister). I’ve made new friends as well as trying to nurture the old. The editing role I already had has now shifted to one with more responsibility and oversight. And – I appear to have created a book. And it appears to have been published.

How odd! How extraordinary! I’m a first-timer, poking it to check if it is real. I’m also a little shy of it now. After years of pouring myself into it, I feel a bit self-conscious. Reading it makes me squirm a little, like watching myself on screen.

I’m tempted to leave it on the shelf, to draw a line under it.

But that would make a mockery of what it is about. Because the book is a confession: of my own forgetfulness. My tendency towards distraction, every day and any day. And it’s also a reflection on the importance of remembering God in our daily lives – what this means.

I can’t draw a line under it; it’s part of my continuing journey and it’s as relevant to me now as it was when I started it.

Because my condition is chronic. I neglect my faith. I don’t open my bible. Then I feel guilty about how long it’s been since I opened it. So I don’t think about it, and the pages remain unread. I pray occasionally rather than continually. I reach a point where I feel empty, and I am blind enough to wonder why.

I’ve forgotten who I am. I’ve forgotten who I am because I’ve ceased remembering who God is. As a Christian, my identity is in Christ. Yet instead of focusing on him, my eyes drift. When I squint towards my faith, I do so through a fog of my own distractedness. I don’t allow times for rest and reflection – I fill them up with mediocre diversions. I’m a little scared to face myself and admit my forgetfulness. So I embrace the forgetfulness even more.

It takes discipline to pull myself back, and often it’s the tug of the Holy Spirit – not my own strength. God, in all patience, woos me into returning. I come understanding: whom have I but you? To whom else would I go?

The seasons of the Church are, in many ways, tools for remembering. Advent, focusing on the coming Christ, can be a great antidote for forgetfulness, if we dare to take more than a cursory sip of it. The incarnate Christ came as a fragile baby into a dark world; the resurrected Christ is still present with us now by the power of the Spirit. And the glorified Christ will come again.

Today, in spite of my busyness, in spite of the distractions, I choose to take a breath. I allow myself to remember. A mere moment, perhaps, but it births more moments as I form a habit of pausing.

This Advent, take a moment to pause. Breathe. Allow yourself to take a handful of stillness. It will help you get perspective on the rest of it – the hurly-burly, the ever-changing, the tugging cords of life.

Reflect on the light that came into the darkness, the light that cannot be put out. And ask for that light to shine on all your distractedness and disrepair.

You haven’t missed the bus. It’s not too late to start a new kind of remembering. Every morning is another chance to draw close to our God of mercy and grace. Seek the One who knows every part of you – the shallow and the deep – and who loves you.

I need to hear this, to reflect on it this Advent season.

Do you?

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Lucy Mills has written a wonderfully challenging book on how our hearts can be so forgetful. Here are the details – I will be reviewing it some time but, for now, I thoroughly recommend it. A good choice for a Christmas present 🙂

Forgetful Heart: Remembering God in a Distracted World is published by Darton, Longman and Todd (2014). You can read more about it on her website.

Are you willing to let God disrupt your life?

2 Comments

Bible_study___Advent_419658179

We are now in Advent, traditionally a time of looking forward and preparing for the coming of Christ through acts of remembrance and repentance as we get ourselves ready spiritually.

The word advent is the anglicised version of the Latin word adventus, which means ‘coming’, ‘arrival’, ‘approach’. During this time we remember the longing ancient people had for a saviour, a messiah, but also how we should be alert for His second coming.

Today, however, I’ve been pondering the consequences of one particular visit or ‘approach’ that started off the events of that first Christmas. That of the angel Gabriel visiting Mary, which I’ve been looking at in Luke 1:26-38.

I was struck afresh today what a bizarre and potentially terrifying experience it must have been for a young girl to suddenly be face to face with an angel. That itself was mind-blowing enough. And yet what about his message? To be told that you, a young, unmarried virgin, would be the mother of the Son of God?!

We obviously don’t get a blow-by-blow account of the story in the Gospels, but I wonder what your response would have been if you had been given such a life-changing message?

We are told that at the start of the conversation ‘Mary was greatly troubled at his words’ (Luke 1:29). Don’t you just love the Bible’s skill at understatement? Troubled? I think I would have either frozen stiff, screamed for help or run away. And that was before he’d even told her God’s plans…

Mary was obviously someone who sought God and made following Him a priority; that must have helped her recognise that this angelic being was indeed sent from God. I admire her courage for sticking it out, for staying long enough to hear his full message.

Pondering the passage in Luke, I do believe that God’s peace must have descended on Mary when she accepted that she was listening to His messenger. How else could she stand there and listen without having a serious freak out?

But what strikes me the most is her simple trust and obedience. Just listen to what she says when Gabriel has finished his speech: ‘I am the Lord’s servant,’ Mary answered. ‘May your word to me be fulfilled.’ (v38)

Part of me wants to shout at her: ‘Come on Mary he’s just totally disrupted your wedding plans – actually, he may well have cost you your wedding. Who is going to believe that you will become pregnant by the Holy Spirit? That just sounds crazy. Do you really think Joseph will believe you?’

And yet that side of me is silenced by the piercing effect her response has. Mary was being asked to trust an angelic being who had brought her a message that would turn her life upside down but, not only that, would change the world if the boy indeed turned out to be the Messiah they were all hoping for. What a privilege … but what an enormous upheaval that necessitated her laying down her rights to all her dreams and plans.

What this passage has made me consider, is what I would do if Jesus or an angel came to me and asked me to disrupt my plans. Not my whole life – just my week’s plans.

To read the rest of this reflection, please click here.