Doc McKelvie's Office - View topic - Advent~The 4 Sundays before the Birth of Christ - A Place For Veterans & Active/Reserve Duty Personnel, Whether Military OR Civilian Services (e.g. - Emergency Services: Fire, Rescue, Police, Medical), To Come Together And Share Information and Experiences - Free Message Board Hosting by FreePowerBoards.com

December 2

THE FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT
Mary's Wonder

The sky of Nazareth burns with a low orange light. I step along under the sunset, following the little shining path, careful not to stumble. After all, I am expecting a child soon. But I could not resist coming once more to the place where the mystery began. I settle on a rock by the spring and watch the sun's low rays sparkle in the water. I remember as though it were yesterday...
I had come with my water skins that day, hurrying ahead of the sinking sun. I, a peasant girl moving in the predictable regularities of life. The same spring. The same chore. The same routine. But somehow that day found me full of heightened awareness, alive to God and the world and possibilities hidden all around me. I was like a child, full of wonder and expectation.
The spring was deserted, I stood there alone for a moment, alert to the presence of God in the rushing water. I dipped my water skin into the stream.
"Mary." The voice broke into the silence. I looked up. No one was about. Only a slanting shaft of sunlight.
"Mary!" The voice poured forth from the streaming light. I froze, my hands steeped in the waters of the cold spring. Slowly I lifted my eyes.
He stood only a few feet away, surrounded by the light. "Do not be afraid, Mary," he said. "I am sent from God. You will conceive in your womb and bear a son. You shall call him Jesus."
"How can that be?" I whispered. "I have no husband."
"The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore the child to be born will be called holy."
Silence hung like a white mist around us. Slowly the words arose from my heart. "Let it be," I said. And the stranger was gone.
The memory fades. Yet even now as I sit by the spring, I feel the wonder of that time. And think of how strange it is that God breaks through to us in the midst of small, common moments. . .how strange it is that every ordinary moment of existence is poised on the brink of a miracle.
And I wonder. If on that day my eyes and ears had been closed. . .if my sense of awe and expectancy had been asleep. . . if my sensitivity to God's coming had been dim. . .would I have heard the angel's voice? And even too, long ago, would my forefather Moses have seen the bush burning in the wind had he not been alert to God's Presence? The spring gurgles and the question looms large in the gentle, falling light.
No, I think. God comes. The extraordinary occurs. And common bushes burn. And there are those who are aware.

December 9

SECOND SUNDAY OF ADVENT
Mary's Promise

The stigma follows me like a shadow in the Nazareth street. And although I fight them, tears sting my eyes. For even now after all these months, the women whisper when I pass. And the scandal grows thick with gossip. "There goes Mary. She sinned before her wedding and now she blasphemes God by claiming that her child is conceived from the Holy Spirit. does she think we are mad to believe such a lie?"
I glance back at the whispering women. Their eyes stare at me with raw accusation, piercing my heart. Dear Joseph, at least you believe me, I think as I hurry into the courtyard of our house. I drop my market basket with sudden weariness. The long months of rejection and hurt wash over me in great black waves. "Oh, God, what have You asked of me?" I cry.
The air is quiet except for the sound of Joseph's hammer thudding rhythmically in his carpenter's shop behind the house. His voice, too, drifts out in faint song, the cadence weaving through the pounding of the hammer. In those quick, decisive blows I seem to hear my own words as they answered the angel. "Let it be. . . let it be." I had freely accepted the extraordinary proposal of God. Yet, how can I go through with it? What good will come of it?
I sit down beside the gate. Joseph's hammer pounds and pounds. His song grows louder. He is singing one of the ancient psalms of King David. "Sing praises to the Lord. . .weeping may endure for the night. But joy comes with the morning."
The words suddenly suffuse me with their promise. The promise that all of God's nights are followed by His mornings. The assurance that He brings light out of dark, hope out of hurt, good out of trials.
Joseph's voice dies away now buy the promise remains, warm and deep and certain inside of me. The accusing eyes, the stigma, the tears --- they will fade just as the night fades. Joy will arise as God's purpose is fulfilled.
Here by the gate I whisper the words again. "Oh, yes, my Lord. Let it be."

Page generation time: 3.0336s (PHP: 100% - SQL: 0%) - SQL queries: 30 - - Debug on