From darkness to light

The people who walk in darkness
Will see a great light;
Those who live in a dark land,
The light will shine on them.
~~ Isaiah 9:2


The night before the birth that changed the world, there was no hum of anticipation. The people whose families hailed from Bethlehem were gathering there again in droves, no doubt grumbling over Roman tax laws and the difficulty of finding rooms. The shepherds were spending another dirty, smelly night with the sheep, those stupidest of animals. Astronomers from miles and miles away were watching the skies, as usual. Pharisees and other religious leaders were offering up prayers for a Messiah of their own imagining, someone to kill the Roman invaders and restore Israel to all its Davidic glory. Perhaps a man named Simeon--closing his eyes after another long day, feeling his age--would have felt one day closer to the consolation he'd been yearning for, but perhaps he was one of few.

When Matthew references the prophet Isaiah, he does it like this:

"The people who were sitting in darkness saw a great light,
And to those who were sitting in the land and shadow of death,
Upon them a light dawned."
~~ Matthew 4:16

Not physical darkness, but the darkness of a land ruled by death. Not just walking, but sitting. Waiting for the inevitability of the shadow.

And then one new baby cries.

Elsewhere, in the fields with the watching shepherds, the night explodes in light and in song--the first sign that the child who has left glory pulls glory in after him. But most of Israel is sleeping. Nobody told them that everything would change that night.

Long ago, when the church scheduled a commemoration of this unremarkable yet miraculous night, they chose a time of year that coincided with pagan festivals celebrating the winter solstice, the longest night that (finally) gave way to the returning sun. Now, on Christmas, we celebrate the turning from a deeper darkness than the dead of winter, and a light that both preceded and will outlast the sun. Now, every day, in the midst of whatever darkness threatens to overwhelm us, we remember the Incarnation.

Because the glory of God breaks forth when we least expect it.

Deflection

Tonight I had a serious conversation about origins, specifically from the viewpoints of young earth six day and old earth framework. It was the sort of discussion I have experienced all too rarely since graduating from college: voices were raised infrequently and lowered quickly, opinions were stated calmly, and in general the participants seemed more concerned for each other than for the outcome of the discussion.

I am not saying that doctrinal stances are unimportant, or that there aren't times when you need to take a firm stand against a position that is leading somebody into sin, or that the Word can mean two contradictory things at the same time. But as we were talking about Genesis, and then beginning to touch on Revelation, it occurred to me that I can't remember the last time I had a conversation that was nearly this in-depth about how I am living.

Or as I said to my friend on the other side of the coversation, maybe we talk so much about the beginning of things and the end of things so we don't have to talk about things here in the middle.

It's easy for me to list off reasons why I believe that God created the world in six 24 hour days. It's easy for me to argue over end times scenarios. But please don't let's talk about how we're doing here in the present moment, because I so much want and don't want all that to be known.

What do you think of women as elders?

Christmas time is here. Cue Vince Guaraldi.

When I was about seven or eight years old, my parents sat my brother and I down and told us that we would not be celebrating Christmas that year. They were tired of the commercialization, they weren't sure the holiday as celebrated was honoring to God, and so they took a break. I respect them for that.

I missed Christmas. I don't remember missing the presents much. We got presents at birthdays, after all. I did miss the family gatherings. And maybe even more, I missed the time my immediate family used to spend decorating the tree together: my mom and dad getting all of the old ornaments out; my brother and I arguing a bit over who got to put up which ornament; my dad picking us kids up so we could hang things on higher branches.

I don't know that my parents ever intended to resume celebrating Christmas, but about five years later we did. Sort of. We started exchanging gifts again (I remember my dad taking us to the mall on Christmas Eve to shop for mom). We started going to family functions. I have especially fond memories of the kids' table at the Fleagle gatherings, none of us knowing how few years we'd really have left when we were all really still kids, young and ignorant and invulnerable.

But even as that five year hiatus becomes a smaller and smaller percentage of my life, I still have ambivalent feelings towards the holiday. I would imagine living outside of the country for five years as a child would have a similar effect in certain ways.

I don't feel like I get Christmas. I don't understand it on a procedural level. What if somebody gets you a gift and you don't have a gift for them? What if you get cards from everybody and you never send cards back? In either of these cases, might the people in question simply write you off as a sorry excuse for a friend?

Christmas cards are harder than gifts. I like getting them, especially the newsy cards or the photo cards. The photo cards always go on my fridge, and they make me happy all year. But I don't think I've ever yet sent a Christmas card. Whenever I think of doing it, a voice in the back of my head starts whining about landfills, or about how I haven't had an interesting enough year to write a newsy update, or how I have enough for a newsy update but I've procrastinated too long, or...etc., etc.,etc. Lots of excuses. So to everyone who sends me a card every year and receives nothing in return...thanks, and I don't deserve you.

I haven't decorated a Christmas tree in 20 years. I have ornaments from various friends (somewhere), but no tree. Where would I put one? And would it even be anywhere near as enjoyable of an experience to decorate a tree without my family? My only real "Christmas decorations" (really sort of winter decorations, in that I put them away by spring) are two stuffed bears: one from Grandma Crowe, who gave me a Winnie-the-Pooh in winter garb; one from Grandma Winter, who gave me a bear dressed in green and red, a bear that has been a Winter Christmas decoration for years and years.

Both of these bears make me feel close to family, make me feel loved, and make me feel like a small girl who isn't all that big and grown-up after all.

Tangible love meets a need for something bigger than self....

And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Addendum to my second-to-last post, "You Are Cordially Not Invited...."

This came over through our church email today, and considering my recent post it made me smile.

"CORRECTION FOR 80'S NEW YEAR’S PARTY: The announcement for this party should have read 'teens of the 80's', instead of 'children of the 80's'. Here's some updated information: Attention: TEENAGERS of the 80's & their spouses...."

You know.

Just in case you accidentally thought you could come.

Single Focus

Just what is it that single people can do so uniquely? I hear frequently that single people are better equipped to serve God in unique ways. I rarely hear anybody explain what they mean by this.

Do they mean “single people aren’t as busy, so they can be more active in the church”?

If they think single people are not busy, they are wrong. I may not have any extra people to clean up after, but neither do I have anybody to help me clean up. Or carry groceries. Or make dinner. (As an aside, I have a good number of friends who are awesome at making dinner for me. Which is always much appreciated.)

Do they mean “we have no idea what we are talking about”?

Quite possibly. I know I talk about a lot of things without always knowing what I’m talking about, and there are very few significant differences between me and someone who is married in that regard.

Do they mean “single people are better positioned to keep their focus on God than married people are?”

Because that’s what Paul says. (I Corinthians 7 doesn’t seem to be discussed much in any of the churches I’ve attended.) “But I want you to be free from concern. One who is unmarried is concerned about the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord; but one who is married is concerned about the things of the world, how he may please his wife, and his interests are divided. The woman who is unmarried, and the virgin, is concerned about the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and spirit; but one who is married is concerned about the things of the world, how she may please her husband.” (I Cor. 7:32-34) I have personally found that male/female relational drama on a far less intense level than marriage can distract me in extremely detrimental ways, and I always come out the worse for looking in the wrong direction.

I hope that when the church talks about the unique placement of single people, what we mean is that single people are uniquely gifted with single focus—they don’t have to please a spouse, so they can concentrate on pleasing God. And if they focus intently on pleasing God and He sends a spouse, then they will have made it a habit to practice serving God first, and their marriage will be stronger and more of a blessing because of it. And if they focus intently on pleasing God and He does not send a spouse, then they will have made it a habit to practice serving God first, and they will be stronger and more of a blessing because of it.

If at any time we see singleness primarily as a bookend to marriage, or if marriage supplants the glory of God as the ultimate goal of life, we have an idolatry problem, and we need to address that. Contrariwise, if at any time we see singleness as freedom to serve ourselves, or marriage as a trap waiting to be sprung, we have an idolatry problem there, too. We can turn to either marriage or singleness as a source of satisfaction or security, but neither will answer—satisfaction and security are found in God alone.

There is nothing wrong with me that marriage—or anything else, no matter how humanly great it is; or my very own self, for that matter—can fix. There is nothing wrong with me that God can't fix. Or even that He won't fix, in time.

Call it His unique specialty.

You Are Cordially Not Invited....

I just received an email notice about three New Year's Eve parties hosted by various members for my church. One is for "children of the 80's," one is for young couples, and one is for Baby Boomers.

You might be able to read between the lines and say that "child of the 80's" means anybody who likes the 80's. But the others seem...segregationist.

I understand that it is good to be able to associate with people in your stage of life. I feel quite encouraged to be with single women of my age group. (I can't think of any at my church beside me, but the principle stays the same, I guess.) I just feel a little twingy when I see notes in the bulletin saying things like, "Hey, all the young couples/old couples/baby boomers/moms/wives/etc./etc. are getting together for awesome fun!"

Maybe it's because I don't feel like I have a niche (although I do). Maybe it's because I feel like nobody in these groups would want to talk to anybody who wasn't in the group (although I'm sure they would).

There is some part of me underneath all the feeling sorry for myself that knows we can all learn from each other, no matter our age or where we are in life, and that remembers feeling strangely cut off when I went to college and spent most of four years in groups of fellow students who were roughly my age.

But sometimes it's buried deeper underneath than I'd like.

My social schedule isn't affected by any of these parties this year, anyway. I'm pretty sure all Harvest single women between 25 and 30 are going to be spending the holiday week with my family.

On Anonymity in Comments

I was just reading a friend's blog, in which she was ruminating over a problem she had been having with an anonymous commenter. It got me thinking about the purpose of leaving comments at all.

Personally, I only invest time in blogs of those I consider friends. Some are more internet friends than others, but I still feel we have something in common, if only a mutual appreciation for similar things. If I'm investing time in a friend, I can surely invest a bit of extra time by leaving a comment now and then. And I know how much it encourages me when I receive comments, and why wouldn't I want to pass that on?

I think what bothers me about anonymous comments, aside from (perhaps alongside of?) the "stalker" aspect, is that to me the purpose of commenting is an entering into someone else's life. It says "I like your writing," or "I take you seriously," or "thanks for the challenging viewpoint," or "I appreciate you," or some combination of those things. If you comment anonymously, you disallow what tenuous sort of community the internet provides. It's cheap and it's cowardly--the opposite of friendly.

(I know that Brittany can ferret out all her anonymous commenters, so I know some people leave comments on her blog that are only "anonymous" to the other readers. But most of us don't have any idea how she works that magic.)

Anyway, it's one thing to leave a comment on a stranger's blog, but it's another thing not to leave any sort of name with it. It's kind of like honking at a woman who's out walking. And you know how I feel about that.

Another reason why I like birds more than I like dogs

When it gets dark, Apollo turns off. He doesn't scream repeatedly in the middle of the night for no discernible reason. He doesn't wake the neighbors so that people are yelling "SHUT UP!" at 4:00 in the morning.

He isn't that annoying yippy dog who lives in my building somewhere.

Apollo does sometimes make strange squeaky noises in the night, almost as though he hurt himself. Sometimes I hear flapping and/or falling. When I go to check on him (which I always do, because what if he really did hurt himself?), he is always cuddled under his sleepy toy, as if nothing happened. This is why I believe that Apollo has nightmares sometimes. And also that he either A) doesn't remember them for long or B) is too embarrassed to let on that he had a nightmare.

But mostly, the dark is for sleeping.

And never for waking up half the building.

I appreciate that a lot.

"The woman you gave me, she...."

I just finished updating my reading journal, and I thought I'd cross over and expand on part of one of those posts. So here we go.

I recently read a book called Infidel, by Ayaan Hirsi Ali. One of the most fascinating aspects of this book to me was her relation of the way women were often treated in the societies in which she grew.

One part of this broader issue was the issue of coverings for women. In Ali’s experience with Muslim writers, every lustful thought a man had was provoked by a woman, and was thus her sin, not his. Ali once asked why men don’t need to cover up, why it hadn’t been considered that a woman would likewise be driven to lustful thoughts at the sight of a man, and her listeners merely laughed at her.

I found this distressingly similar to the sort of talk I have heard in Christian circles. In one youth group I know of, there was an evening in which the group divided into girls and boys—the girls to talk about modesty and not provoking men, the boys to talk about pornography and not being provoked by women.

Granted, these are both subjects worth discussing. But they are by no means entirely gender-specific, and we do everyone a disservice by acting as though they are.

I have never, to my recollection, heard anyone say anything about male modesty—“Guys, if you think girls are attracted to your bare chests, have a little respect for them and yourselves and keep your shirts on!”—or about how women can be swayed into mental sins by the way men choose to talk about other women—Guy: “So-and-so is so hot"; Girl: "Unlike me/She's not that great/He's a jerk for only focusing on physical appearance/etc., etc., etc." (And men, before you tell me it's ridiculous that women would interpret you that incorrectly, tell me how it's not ridiculous that some men feel unduly enticed by bare shoulders. Isn't all sin inherently illogical, in the ultimate sense?) Likewise, I have never, to my recollection, heard women warned against ogling men, or of objectivizing them in the way they speak.

Are men more prone to lust than women are? Maybe, in general...but then, who decides that? When did lust become a men-only (or at least "men-mostly") sin, anyway?

Are women more prone to taking words out of context? Maybe, but in my experience men are at least as sensitive to how women talk to them as the other way around.

What if we stopped trying to classify sin, and instead shifted our focus to the object of this whole Christian life: Christ first and others second? What if we worked to keep our attitudes perpetually sacrificial towards each other, not because other people “make” us sin but because we desire to make other people strong? What if we focused on removing the log from our own eyes before going to our brothers—and sisters—in humility to address the specks in their eyes? What if we asked for help instead of bursting into self-righteous tantrums? What if we protected each other as fiercely as we protected ourselves?

I don't know about you, but that's the kind of world I want to live in...as well as the kind of world I often despair of. I know we'll never fully attain any of that here. I just want to see more people (myself included) practicing for the day when we will.

Light and Momentary Afflictions

My least favorite bird ownership responsibility is clipping Apollo's nails.

"Nail clipping?" you might be thinking. "Sounds easy enough."

It's hard because he hates it so much, and with good reason. Birds have blood vessels in their nails, and if you clip them properly, they usually bleed. Doesn't sound right, does it? But that's what happens when you clip them to the recommended angle.

Why clip them at all? Well, besides the lacerations on my fingers, sharp pointy nails mean a greater danger that Apollo will get snagged in the carpet, on a blanket, or on any number of snaggable surfaces, and he could hurt himself trying to pull free. Also, when his nails are sharp, he doesn't get to be with me as much...the nails hurt me.

Here's how the clipping procedure happened tonight.

1) I wrap Apollo in a towel, whispering soothingly that it will be okay (he knows what the towel means).

2) I clip the nails, packing a powder called Quick-Stop into his nails to stop the bleeding...quickly. I usually only get a few nails at a time before having to change my grip, as he struggles throughout most of this process.

3) I check to be sure the bleeding has stopped and then let him back into the safety of his cage, where he rushes to his cuddly rope toy for solace.

4) He shuns me, keeping his rope between us.

5) Within a few minutes, he begins peeking around the rope to see if I recognize the enormity of my deeds (or maybe if I just miss him).

6) I sneeze, and he is on the other side of the rope, one foot on the cage bars, looking at me. "Are you okay?" he seems to be saying. "I could use a little company, myself."

7) He sits on my finger, switching from one foot to another because they are still sore. At first his back is to me, but not for long. After all, I'm all he has.

And because nothing is thoroughly straightforward and linear to me, every time I trim Apollo's nails I think how much alike we are. I, too, wrestle in the grasp of Someone who owns me, and who is only causing me pain for our mutual benefit, and to allow me to come closer to Him. I, too, want to run when it gets painful, to turn to some other familiar thing. And I, too, inevitably realize that I want the comfort of God's presence even when I'm still hurting.

Who else do I have? (Ps. 73:25)

Small Voices

Tonight I went to a baby shower at my church for a mom with twin girls. As soon as I walked into the room, I was overwhelmed—so many people, so many little groups, and me too afraid to exert my presence.

My mom says everybody is afraid of breaking into larger groups, of introducing themselves to strangers, of risking rejection. I'm sure she's right.

And yet....

Tonight the room was full of wives, of mothers, and of many young women who likely aspired to those offices as though they are birthrights. Tonight during the prayer part of the shower several participants prayed "that we may respect our husbands and be faithful mothers." Tonight as one person prayed for the twins she prayed that God might be with them as they grow "into toddlers...pre-teens...teens...wives...mothers...."

I understand that those are the natural steps in many minds.

I understand that wives and mothers need all the prayers they can get.

I understand that people like my church grandma who say things like "What are we going to do about you, Suzanne" have had great marriages and just think I should have the same, because they love me.

I understand all those things, so it seems a bit selfish and rather stupid of me when I start to feel so lonely over them—to feel shut out of the circle because I am one and not two turned one. (I've found that in general, no place is as lonely as church. Shouldn't the opposite be true?)

We're told that sometimes God comes with a still, small voice, but it seems to me that Satan has a small voice, too. It whispers that I would be justified in moping for ages about how lost I feel in the hallways; or how hard it is for me to talk to new people; or how disheartening it is that I could not be in church at all and there wouldn't be anyone saving a seat for me and wondering where I was. It whispers that the women at the shower tonight don't respect me as a whole person because I'm not a married person. It whispers that while everyone has problems interacting with others, mine are only worse because I am a second-class (meaning "unmarried") citizen. It whispers all sort of things I am ready to believe and to act on unless I am ready to defend myself with the weapons I have been given.

"The glory which You have given Me I have given to them, that they may be one, just as We are one; I in them and You in Me, that they may be perfected in unity, so that the world may know that You sent Me, and loved them, even as You have loved Me." -- John 17:22-23

Jesus gave us the glory the God gave to Him, that we may be perfected in unity. That we may be one. Beyond husband and wife. Beyond daughter and mother. Beyond all ties of friends and family, country and culture. One in Christ, for Christ.

I don't get to sit in a corner and feel sorry for myself. I have to pursue unity. I have to pursue the grand cosmic "us" of God's people, even though it's against my natural inclination to do so. I have to heed Paul's advice: "Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil" (Eph. 6:11).

I have to admit—and thank God this is true!—that I'm not the only one fighting down here.

Tonight the voice whispered to me that it would be okay/understandable/perfectly right for me to jump up after prayer and leave the room without saying goodbye to the guest of honor. I didn't listen. And when I did make my way to her, the first thing she said was, "When are you coming over?"

The Holy Spirit's small voice is louder than Satan's any day.