On Christmas Eve morning, there are a few more hours in Advent.  We're down to the wire with preparations for tonight's worship services.  In these preparations, we are reminded that Jesus was born in Bethlehem and that Jesus is coming again.  Christmas has been celebrated for centuries, and it will be celebrated again.  God continues to gather up our hopes and fears and wrap them together into gifts for today.

Today I look at my pets, Addie and Piper.  They've been adopted into what I hope is the gift of my home, and away from the fears of their previous days. 

Addie was, we think, dropped at the church where I previously served.  Maybe someone couldn't afford food or medical care for her.  That day was the Second Sunday in Advent.  She was balled up and looking into the sanctuary through a clear floor-to-ceiling window with her big Advent-blue eyes.  A church member came up to me and said, "Pastor, we have a church cat!"  My son went out and brought her inside from under the bushes and out of the cold.  Cat in their arms, my son and daughter both pleaded, "Mom, please can we keep her?"  We posted in the newspapers "Lost Cat Found."  We took her to the vet.  We boggled at how someone parted with such a beauty.  We wrapped her into our family.  Addie is aloof, but I think she returns the favor.

This summer, Rex died.  Rex came home from the shelter as a three-month-old puppy dog, wrapped in a towel.  Thirteen years later, after much eating of socks and other odd items, chasing tennis balls with a passion, and finally suffering from leukemia, we wrapped him in a quilt to say good-bye.  Though filled with memories, the space he left needed to be filled with another one to be wrapped in hugs.  Enter Piper.  On walks with her, she pounces on the slightest of new items to cross her path--a leaf a tissue.  She rejoices in the smallest of details, spilling out joy on us like the stuffing from a package being unwrapped.

The stories of these humble beast are around me when I go to make visits at the end of Advent and as Christmas comes again.  I take their giving along with me.  One of great age who has fallen and another with an untimely and sudden health emergency are in the hospital.  Together we wrap their fears in prayer and hope for the promise of home.  I pray that they will not feel outside, but wrapped into God's hope.  There was a funeral last night too.  After many years of mothering, that one was wrapped in love and entrusted to God's eternal care.

In the transition between Advent and Christmas, there are those slight items to cross our paths.  The refrain of a carol, the glimpse of a memory on the face of one in worship.  May we gather and spill out joy on each other.  The stuffing of angels, shepherds, beasts, visitors are wrapped around us and with God's Son once more.

While The St. John's Bible was being created, Illuminator Donald Jackson reflected on Jesus' Parable of the Prodigal Son in Luke 15.  He included an image of the 2001 New York City Twin towers in the illumination for that parable.  Jackson said how, like with the Prodigal, there are some things one cannot force one's way through.  That there are things that must be loved through.  Following the tragedy of lives lost in Newtown, Connecticut, on December 14, 2012, Jackson's words come to broken hearts.  On December 17, 2012 these words are an awkward offering into "what shall we say?"  Some have offered that there is nothing to be said right now.  That presence and prayer are the balm.  True.  Some offer words.  Honorable, and just as true.  Polarizing comments are made, coming from grief and shock and ignorance and fear.  Righteous action is longed for and needed.  Weeping is spending more than the night, and is included in the morning and at midday.  Upon another tablet we begin the attempt to live again.  Do justice.  Love mercy. Walk humbly.  The former tablet lying in shards.

Is Prevent (accent on the second syllable) the actual human season?  Whatever time of year it is?  Advent:  Holy season of anticipation, expectation, awe, wonder, surprise, "Now to him who is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine ... " (Ephesians 3:20, NRSV).  Prevent:  Doubt, dread, resistance, procrastination, hindrance, "And he Jesus was amazed at their unbelief" (Mark 6:6).

This week I have felt disheartened by Prevent responses that I've encountered.  "I can tell you right now that I won't ... "  "That would be the worst ... "  "She always ..."  "He won't ... " 
Good Lord deliver us from our sweeping generalizations and preventations.

And our Good Lord does!  Always!  "And the angel said to her, ... nothing will be impossible with God (Luke 2:37).

May I continue to be Advent-tageous and sing with my ancestor and sister, Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word (Luke 2:38).

There are reminders that come back to give some guidance.  "Light griefs can speak; great ones are dumb" -Seneca.  There has been a season now that includes five Advent and Christmas times.  There is a space in this time that won't be named, but that will also not go away or become something else--whatever it is in the first place.  It is a result of radical change.  It doesn't prevent moving forward.  Neither will it be left behind.  Until now it would not even be acknowledged with words.  Its payload has hindered what moving forward could mean.  Now there begins an uneasy nod between it and me.

Malachi 3: 1-4

Between then and yet.
     Limbo
             what was isn't any longer
              destination's route changed
     Unexpected
              resources hobbled
              well capped
     Sprain
              deep ache
               deranged of motion
     Amputation
               phantom void
Speak tenderly
Light the fire
     Until