From Pastor Johnson
Dear Peace family,
I’m beginning Advent this year with a silent retreat.
I usually go on retreat the first couple of days of
Advent; the ministerial group to which I belong, the Society of the Holy Trinity,
generally has a 24-hour retreat the Monday and Tuesday after the first Sunday
in Advent.
But this is the first time it has been a silent
retreat. Twenty-four hours when, except for our common worship together, we
will be silent. As in "no talking."
I wonder what it will be like?
I’ve never done this before, though I’ve often thought about it. Like most of
you, probably, I am a little uncomfortable with silence. It’s nice for a while,
but after a time it becomes . . . well, too quiet.
Many of our Advent and Christmas hymns refer to
silence. "Silent night, holy night, all is calm . . ."; "How
silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given . . ."; "While
shepherds kept their watching o’er silent flocks by night"; "Good
Christians, fear, for sinners here the silent Word is pleading"; "Let
all mortal flesh keep silence . . ."
And yet if there ever were a noisy time in our lives,
it is this season. Christmas music is everywhere. The stores, the streets, the
airports are crowded, bustling with people, running hither and yon. There are
parties, and events, and church services, and parties again.
And in it all, we so often overlook the silence. My
vision of Jesus’ birth is that it took place in a dark and cold and very quiet
place—isn’t that how you think about it? There is a famous painting—can’t
recall the details at the moment—that shows a very busy and bustling Bethlehem,
packed with people coming for the census, but packed with ordinary people as
well, running about, doing their business, living their lives; and off in one
corner, a weary couple traveling, looking for a place to spend the night,
finding shelter finally in a stable. A place, I fancy, where it was quiet.
Where will you find some silence this season? Where
will you find the quiet that allows you to "prepare him room" in your
heart? I’m looking forward to my retreat, but I know that isn’t enough, or
shouldn’t be. I need to find some time of quiet regularly throughout the
season—maybe every day. Time to tune out the bustle and the
busy-ness. Time just to sit and ponder the miracle of
the season. Time to receive again the wondrous gift
that is given so very silently. Will you join me in trying to find that
time?
Peace
to you,
Pastor
Richard O. Johnson
Tidings From Pastor Morgado
In my country
neighborhood, one house in particular blazes with lights at Christmas time. Its
December PG&E bill must be painful to behold, for every tree facing the
road is layered with lights. Where there are no trees, wooden shapes appear
posing as firs. Overhead, Santa and his reindeer fly over the rooftop, and down
below a large train pull wagons loaded with gigantic presents. Frosty the
Snowman waves from his spot in the yard, and to make sure we understand the
overall sentiment, a five foot sign reads "Season’s Greetings."
It has been a Morgado tradition to walk to this house every December and
only at night. With our hands bright with the glow of lanterns and flashlights,
we walk, singing Christmas carols and stamping our feet against the cold in spite
of thick socks and winter boots. And once we arrive, we ‘ooh and ahh’
until it is too cold to linger longer, and then we wend our way home, eager for
hot drinks and a cheerful fire.
The owner of this
house begins preparing this light show in early November. A couple of years ago
I happened to be walking past his house as he worked, and I waved, hoping that
he would translate that wave as a “thank you for your work.” He just looked at
me, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders and the impassive
expression on his face. And then I wondered if he hated Christmas and was
heartily sick of entertaining the neighborhood, but was in too deep to
retrench.
He is not
alone in his exhaustion. Two years ago, a woman of deep faith looked me in the
eye and boldly professed that she hated Christmas, and not only did she hate
Christmas, but she was not putting up a tree, she was not shopping at the
Galleria, and she was not posting cards. Her final words carried a defiant
message of "so there" with "and save your breath because I am
not changing my mind."
I did save my
breath about Christmas. It is difficult to defend the endless red and green
splashes in stores, and music tracks tediously playing jingle bell songs, and
the declaration that Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year, even
though the pocketbook is tight and the grip of guilt even tighter.
But I did
defend Advent, this holy time of waiting, with churches dressed in blue and
kitchen wreaths anchored with four candles. How I love praying the ‘O
Antiphons’ seven days before Christmas Eve. Only once a year do we pray,
"O Dayspring, Splendor of Light Everlasting; O Wisdom, Holy Word of God; O
Radiant Down, Splendor of Eternal Light, Sun of Justice." What magnificent names for the Messiah based
on the prophecy of Isaiah!
And yes, the
Christmas tree can be work, but I cannot give up its sign of Christian hope in
a weary world. So, too, the Advent Wreath that invites all of us to keep track
of time in a circular way, and at its heart waits the white candle that points
to the Christ Child.
I could give
up the annual trek to the neighbor’s house of lights, but not Christmas Eve
when the stars tremble overhead at the sound of carols singing of the Messiah
born in Bethlehem and laying in the manger, the One who has come to bring peace
and life to all creation.
Yours in the name of O Dayspring, Splendor of Light
Everlasting,
Pastor Judith Morgado