Advent II: Balconies

I worship in a church that has a balcony. In fact, it has three, and their presence offers a grand and glorious effect to the architecture of the space. Unfortunately, their presence also speaks of a history that is anything but grand and glorious. It was where “the help” were to sit, usually men and woman of color. In older churches, the balconies were reserved for slaves. Such spaces are not unique to churches, balconies in theaters and courtrooms also served the same purpose. (Remember, To Kill a Mockingbird?”

It is often tempting to look back and throw stones at the past, but the fact is we still live surrounded by balconies, most of them internal. It’s where we relegate people we’d rather not sit beside. It’s ok for _______ (fill in the blank) to be here, but just keep them away from me, the thinking goes. Maybe it’s the color of their skin, their socio-economic standing, where their from, or something they’ve done. Maybe it’s their political perspectives or religious beliefs that causes us to put someone in the balcony, but, whatever the reason, we are often eager to move people into balconies. We all have them and are more eager than we’d like to admit to usher those who differ from us to such set apart places. 

Looking up at the balcony last  Sunday, I saw a son of a friend of mine who was in town to visit. He and his husband chose to sit in the balcony. Maybe it’s where he likes to sit. Maybe it’s because it’s where he sat as a child. Maybe not.

Advent is a season that calls us to reflect on our lives and consider making room in the inn. After all, there were no balconies in the stable. Shepherds knelt beside wise men, sheep beside cattle. Everyone had the same view of the one who came to take balconies away. Maybe he was trying to teach us something from the very start.

Advent Thinking:

Who do you put in the balcony?

When have you ever felt like you were placed apart from others?

What would it look like for you to invite someone from the balcony to sit beside you?

What would it take to refuse to be ushered up into the balcony?

Advent I: Clearing the airways.

I was recently in a home that had a Bluetooth speaker system. I strutted about with my phone in my pocket playing my favorite music for all to hear. That is, until I walked to a place where a stone fireplace blocked the signal. The music began to break up and static filled the air. I quickly realized what the problem was and moved to where nothing stood between my phone and the stereo, and the music returned.

As I began thinking about the season of Advent, which begins this Sunday, I realized that one of the purposes of Advent is to clear the airwaves. Those of us who consider themselves spiritual people believe a connection between God and ourselves is possible, as illusive or mysterious as it sometimes feels. Over time, however, things like the big stone fireplace get in between us and suddenly the signal begins breaking up and static fills the air. 

The obstacles come in many shapes and sizes. A packed schedule can certainly stand in the way, so can a cell phone that’s glued to our ear or ever before our eyes. Unhealthy relationships or seeking the wrong person’s approval can distract us, just as unhealthy habits can. 

Advent is a time to look at what blocks the signal. It is a time to listen anew and move to where the signal is stronger, or remove what’s standing in the way. 

The good news is, with renewed effort, the signal returns and we can, as it is said in the Christmas season, “hear, again, the song of angels.”

Extra Credit:

Listen for God’s voice. Is the signal clear, or is it breaking up? What stands in the way, and what steps can you take (today, this week, this season) to clear the airways between you and God?

Like the others.

Silly Israel! 

After God had chosen his people and given to them a land flowing in milk and honey, they still longed for more. It wasn’t enough to have a home of their own, nor to live in communion with God. No, they wanted something else. Looking at other nations, they wanted to be like them. Their neighbors had bigger armies, more wealth, and kings to lead them. 

“We want to be like them,” they cried to Samuel, a priest.

“But that’s not who you were created to be,” he replied. “You were created to be different, a nation under God.”

“They’re not,” they demanded. “We want to be like them.”

So, with great reluctance, God allowed them the freedom to become who they wanted to be. A king was crowned, a mighty army established, and, for a time, the economy seemed to explode.

“See,” they boasted. “It’s proof that this is God’s will!”

The Priests listened and walked away with great sorrow. They could see what the others could not. They knew God sought a different kind of nation, one that lived in communion, or friendship, with Him, and lived in a way consistent with that relationship. It would change the way they teated one another, the world itself, and people from other nations.

The new nation soon saw itself as the center of things, and placed God off to the side. Everything was measured as to whether it benefitted, or hurt, the nation, and their new nationalism gave them enormous pride. They refused to listen to those who spoke out against the new nation, the ones who pointed out the inconsistencies between they were living and the faith they professed. “You’re nothing but false prophets,” they exclaimed at the nay sayers.

As the people hoped, the nation became a nation like all the others. Some saw this and shouted cries of delight. Others wept.

Silly Israel