First Sunday of Advent

My Grandma Violet was the black sheep of our family. I think of her when I pray.

Advent amid the rubble of 2020

In Advent, we expect the unexpected.

Can we sense the Holy Spirit’s presence as God’s face shining upon us?

Climate science is apocalyptic: it reveals fundamental truths.

During Advent, the cry of Isaiah should be our cry.

The Gospel reading speaks of the world ending. For some people in the pews, it is.

I eschew the danger of the river, but I know that it is where God leads me.

No one likes the thought of an angry God. It's hard enough to deal with an angry person.

I entered parish ministry with a fair amount of idealism, particularly liturgical idealism. Inconveniently, the liturgical proclivities I picked up in seminary were not especially popular with my first congregation.

This became clear as a sleigh bell during our first Advent season together.

Patience is not one of my virtues, as those closest to me know. I want answers now, clarity now, unresolved issues settled now, anxiety lifted now.

Bring it on, commerce.

Isaiah refuses to pretend anymore.

The preacher must remind those who feel worthless already that Isaiah is not trying to make them feel worse.

What is the need for which I need Jesus to come?