O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

There is something very different about this season of the year. My wife and I have chosen to celebrate Advent, the coming of the Christ child in our home by reading scripture, praying, and pouring over  meditations that friends or acquaintances from Abilene Christian University have written. Our church tradition has NEVER celebrated Advent, with the exception of the church we attended in Abilene back in the day. And, I find that very odd. 

Something is different this year. I feel a stirring within me. 

I ponder the differences between this year and last year or the year before or the year before that. I suspect that there are several things that make for a difference this year. For the first time, obinutuzumab is coursing through my veins. I get it every week or two weeks, sitting in an infusion room for four or five hours as the drip, drip, drip, drip makes its way down the bag, via the tube, into my IV, and into my body. It leaves me very exhausted. One nurse said that it is cumulative. I believe her. It has a mind of its own. Some days the effects are minimal and others I barely drag around. 

Then, in about two or three weeks from now, I'll begin taking a pill form of immunotherapy, a pill called ventaxlata, and I hear it will be rougher than the IV drug. We'll see. 

My wife and I are cautious as to where we go and when we go and whether we wear masks or not. I've learned that the only two people who are concerned about my body and its low level of immunity are she and I. I do not go to large gatherings, especially gatherings where I suspect that the setting is a petri dish for COVID or RSV or the flu.

Why do I say all of this? Is it an introduction to a larger story? 

The short verse is that I was stirred by a podcast from Ecclesia Houston, a message delivered by Sean Palmer, a teaching pastor there, a minister who was at ACU as a student back in the day when Charla and I were there. We know some of the same people and know some of the same stories. 

His message which is linked below, is about magi coming to worship the Christ child. Against all odds, they found the child, bowed down and worshipped and left the child with gold, frankencense, and myrrh, not exactly gifts you'd think to leave a child, or to his father or mother. How about sanitary wipes, diapers, formula, baby clothes, or even a toy that rattles. 

They knew to head in the opposite direction from Herod who may have come across as a benevolent King, but they knew better.

Frankly, that is where I am this year. In my weakened state, I can only give what I can give to the Christ child. I can only do what I can do. No more no less. One of the gifts I oftentimes bring is the gift of words in prose or poetry form, but this year, more often than not, those words do not coming. 

The cancer in my blood, small cell lymphacytic lymphoma, and the medications to treat it, have consumed more often than not my words, emotions, dreams, and wishes. 

During this season, I want to offer to the newborn King words of hope on behalf of a marginalized people. If you follow the words on this page, you know who they are. They are Black farmers, women and men whose DNA is in the soil, whose blood is in the soil, who want nothing more than to work the land and to pass the land on to their children and grandchildren. Yet, in the way of their aspirations stands the monolythic agency with its myriad of sub-agencies, the United States Department of Agriculture. It is rife with all forms of malfeasance and corruption. Those who want to do good are often kicked to the curb by those who value sameness over change. Search out the names Stucki and Rosenberg and you'll read what I'm talking about and have heard since 1994. 

I'd like to offer them more during this Advent season. On some days, maybe the words and ideas and directions will come. On other days, words, ideas, and directions will not come. 

So, all that I have to offer the Christ child in this Advent season is some measley leftovers. Leftovers from fatigue, IV drip, insomnia, and SLL. 

Come, o come Emmanuel. Come into our world. Redeem our world. Save us from ourselves. 

Here is Pastor Sean Palmer's message for Advent, week one. 

https://ecclesiahouston.org/liturgy/2023/11/27/searching-for-jesus-advent-week-one.

Living in Between: During These Days of Advent, Lord, Lead Us

On this special day of the Advent season, I am pondering “living in between.” We are living within several “in betweens.” We live in between creation and the ultimate redemption. We are living in between now and the coming of the Christ child. We are living in between normalcy and the return to normalcy, if there is to be such a thing. We are living in between what we recall about the politics of our land from years gone by, yearning for a return to civility amongst us all.

Some of God’s children live with a strong eye toward the end times. Some even say that the madness of the world includes multiple signs that we are living in the end times. If we read the book of 2 Peter, then perhaps we can realize that we have always lived in the end times. The living part just gets stretched out.

If indeed we are living in between, especially in between now and the coming of the Christ child, how would the Holy One of Israel have us live? Live and do what? Live and think what? Live and reflect upon what? Live and dream of what?

Living in between for me means making some noise about mistreatment of Black farmers across our land. Toward that end, we write, make calls, and advocate in a wide range of ways. Advocacy toward congressionals is one. For instance, two bills are making their way through the Senate and the House. The Justice for Black Farmers Act of 2023 has once again been submitted by Senators Cory Booker and Raphael Warnock. Some people hold these men in derision, but tor me and my house, we honor and respect them because they have their hearts in the right place. That place is recovery of the Black farmer from decades after decades of discrimination, heart break, and land loss. Another bill has been written that will provide accountability with the confines of the sacred halls of the USDA. Representative Jackson from Illinois understands the challenges of farming while Black in America against all odds. That bill entitled, "Just USDA Standards and Transparency Act of 2023" holds much promise. 

So, this morning in the spirit of Advent, and in the reality of living in between now and when the Christ child is born, and in that in between space of when the Bill will be signed into law, I offer this prayer. For those of us who do pray, please feel free to join me. 

Lord, lead me to see people who will vote for or against these bills, those who are concerned about history of discrimination and those for whom it is a non-entity.

Lord, lead us to understand the depth of the pain of those families who struggled and lost their farms, and those who are living in fear that even now, they just might lose their farms.

Lord, lead me to a greater sensitivity of what it means to be Black in America.

Lord, lead us to a great sensitivity of what it means to be a Black farmer in America.

Lord, lead me to see the log in my own eye before I point out the speck of racism in the eye of another.

Lord, lead us to be instruments of peace in a polarized world and to reach across whatever isles are created.

Lord, lead me to see the humanity and goodness in people with whom I have many philosophical and theological differences.

Lord, lead us to speak with courage in these perilous days, and to back up that speech with action.

Lord, bring forth hope upon our land that we may live and celebrate as a united people.

Lord, bring forth honesty and faith and resilience to all people so that we can live in harmony with one another.

Lord, prompt all of us to see the coming of the Christ child as a pivotal moment to grab hold of hope.

Lord, prompt the season of the year to bring about all manner of acts of kindness and generosity upon all of us.

Lord, prompt us to respect all of your children, every color, dark or light, because we are all precious in your sight.