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678 King Street
Denver, CO, 80204
United States

(720) 515-9838

We are an Anglican Church in the Villa Park neighborhood in south-west Denver.  We seek to share in the life of God together by re-defining and re-orienting everything around the gospel of Jesus Christ. We follow a liturgical form of worship and welcome friends, neighbors, and strangers alike. 

Journal

Singing the Psalms (during Lent)

Advent Denver


Click here for Matt’s tutorial video for this coming Sunday’s Psalm.

“In their original form the psalms were not pure poetry but songs, perhaps with instrumental accompaniment.” 

If the Psalms are songs, why don’t we sing them? Sure, we sing them in a way. Many songs are paraphrases of the Psalms. We’re familiar with metrical psalmody, which rose to prominence in the Calvinist tradition as a way of singing Psalm texts in a hymn-like style (think “All People That on Earth Do Dwell” from Psalm 100). We also have songs of our day that are inspired by the Psalms (think “House of God Forever” from Psalm 23). But do we think of the Psalms primarily as songs or as sacred texts? Chanting the Psalms is a way of treasuring and honoring their origin as inspired song and we will do so in Sunday worship throughout Lent.

The Evolution of Psalm Chanting

The Psalms themselves remind us they were written as songs. Modern Bible translations usually include musical instructions that are found with the text of the Psalms in early manuscripts. Take Psalm 4, for example. Before verse one starts, we see “To the leader: with stringed instruments.” Psalm 6 gives the instruction “according to The Sheminith,” which may represent the tune or musical range that was associated with the Psalm. In addition to clues here and in many other Psalms, there is much historical evidence that Jews chanted the Psalms, a tradition that continues today. 

Jesus himself would have been used to singing the Psalms. I like to imagine that in his humanity, Jesus’ singing of the Psalms helped him memorize them. (Am I alone in remembering Sunday School songs learned, ahem, many years ago?) Matthew’s and Mark’s accounts of the Last Supper include the detail Jesus and his disciples “had sung the hymn” when the meal concluded. This was likely the chanting of Psalms 115-118, traditionally sung at the end of the Passover meal.

Simply stated, chant is singing a text to the rhythm of speech. Chanting enables us to sing prose since we do not have to fit words to a musical meter. In Western Christianity, there are two forms of chant, or plainsong, that are most commonly sung today.

The first is Gregorian chant, the form of chant that typically comes to mind. It is monophonic, meaning there is only one line of music sung by everyone at the same time. The early church continued the Jewish tradition of chanting, and by extension the practice of Jesus. Chant was an oral tradition, existing prior to modern musical notation. Chanting was common in various forms in monastic communities and used to sing not only the Psalms, but the Mass and Divine Office. The entirety of the book of Psalms was sung throughout the office hours over a week’s time, a practice still observed by many monastic communities.

During the rule of Pope Gregory the Great, efforts were made to standardize various liturgies to the practice of the church of Rome. The chanting style of the Roman church largely won out, as Rome was the center of power. Musical notation as we know it did not exist during Gregory’s papacy; therefore, it is dubious that Roman chant was actually codified by Pope Gregory. Codification into the eight psalm tones we now refer to as Gregorian chant likely happened in later centuries.

The second common form of chant is Anglican chant, which arose out of the English Reformation. The Reformation brought the need for vernacular liturgical texts instead of worshipping in unknown Latin. Though earlier English translations of the Bible existed, Miles Coverdale published the first complete Bible in English. The Psalms of his Great Bible served as the psalter for the first version of the Book of Common Prayer in 1549. The Coverdale Psalter is the foundation for our 2019 BCP psalter.

In 1550, John Merbecke set the new English language psalter and prayer book to music in his booke of Common praier noted. He attempted to keep the music simple for church use, suit the English text, incorporate traditional English music, and keep the text-based free rhythms of Gregorian chant. Merbecke’s settings did not have staying power as the BCP went through subsequent changes and England experienced religious turmoil not settled until the reign of Queen Elizabeth. Anglican chant received a revival during the Oxford Movement in the nineteenth century and is commonly practiced throughout the Anglican communion to this day.

Unlike the monophonic texture of Gregorian chant, Anglican chant’s texture is homophonic, meaning the melody is supported harmonically by other parts. Anglican chant typically uses a four-voice texture, similar to hymn writing, in which the melody found in the soprano (top) line is accompanied by the alto, tenor, and bass parts below moving at the same basic rhythm. Anglican chant is often accompanied by instruments.

Singing the Psalms in 2021

So where does that leave us? We know that a Psalm is part of our weekly Eucharistic liturgy. Why not sing the Psalms instead of reciting them, returning them to their rightful place as songs? Of course, we will continue to worship with metrical psalms and new songs birthed from the Scriptures. In addition to these expressions, we will embrace chanting the Psalms during Lent. We will be utilizing Gregorian chant for two reasons: because it’s easier to start a practice of chant with one part than with four, and the austerity of Gregorian chant is well-suited to Lent. We will honor our Anglican heritage by utilizing the Coverdale Psalter for the Psalm texts (as is our usual practice). 

Why look backward when thinking about singing the Psalms today? Like many spiritual disciplines, chanting has relevance for our lives. In an act of sacred remembrance, we join in the song of Jesus, doing what he did. We connect with historic church practices and the communion of saints across centuries. Like the early church, we value corporate Psalm singing as a symbol of unity. We reverence the Holy Scriptures by bending our song to it rather than it to our will. We let the Word reside in us deeply and breathe it back out in prayer as we find ourselves singing it both intentionally and unexpectedly throughout our day. We affirm the wisdom of the Creator who has equipped us uniquely to praise him with song.

Basic Considerations for Chanting

One of the common objections I hear from people who are not used to chanting is, “But I can’t read music.” As alluded to in the historical context above, neither could centuries of chanters! Chant is an oral tradition and you will pick it up as we sing it. 

People also believe that chant is challenging. I would counter that chant is not so much difficult as much as it is different compared with what we’re used to singing. The chant settings we will use will be less complex musically than any other song we sing on a Sunday morning.

So I challenge you to jump in with heart, mind, and voice as we add this expression to our Sunday worship. You may even find yourself sing-praying the Psalms as you go about your day!

For those of you wanting a little more instruction, the following illustration shows how the Psalm will be projected on Sunday. The bullets that follow are adapted from Music Resources for the ACNA. Also, check out the linked video demonstration.

Psalm 27:1 in chant notation

Psalm 27:1 in chant notation

  • The music printed above each chant is printed there for initial learning of the memorable and relatively simple two-measure chant, and afterward only for reference. Once the melody has been learned, there is less need to focus on the printed music and with the melody in hand, the congregation can now move their focus on singing and worshipping with the given Psalm text.

  • The text of each Psalm is pointed (pointing is a method of marking the syllables of a psalm for chanting) to reflect the layout of the printed music. Therefore, there are quarter ( ׀ ) and single ( | ) bar lines included in the Psalm text, just as in the music, with a bolded double bar line ( ) indicating when the chant music comes to an end and the worshippers are to start again at the beginning of the chant.

  • Good chanting, at its foundation, is the rhythm of speech (as one would recite a poem out loud) sung on a given pitch. When chanting, the words are sung on the same given pitch in the printed chant melody (the reciting tone) until encountering a bar line within the Psalm text. Any bar line, whether quarter ( ׀ ), single ( | ), or bolded double (║), indicates a change of pitch for the singers and corresponds directly to the bar lines within the chant music.

  • Sing through commas, so as to maintain the musical line. Breathe at periods, exclamation marks, as well as semi-colons. Some of the chants include a note in parentheses. This note is only used in singing the chant when the last word of a line has multiple syllables.

-Matt Wolchak, Advent’s Worship Leader

Lent @ Advent

Advent Denver

Hello Advent family!

Please take 3 minutes to watch this video outlining our plans for Lent: https://youtu.be/CkcNuFy8JmI

I’m truly excited to enter into Lent with you and to share what I am inviting our church family into for the season. In short, I want to invite you to fasting and feasting.

FASTING.

Advent invites you to join the family in weekly community fasts. See this document outlining these plans in detail, including a bit of the "why" behind fasting, and offering some reflection questions for your use in small groups, gospel friendship groups, or with your family.

FEASTING.

Advent invites you to feast in at least three ways this Lent:

• Read the book of 1st Peter once every week of Lent.

• In person or online, I invite you to be present with and prayerfully engage every sermon in our Lenten Series: Flourishing in Exile.

• Receive Holy Communion every week. I will offer drive-by communion between services for those who are worshipping online. There is no substitute for being nourished by Christ in the sacrament, and I hope you will take advantage of this opportunity to receive Holy Communion every Sunday. Two ideas:

1) One parent may pick up and bring communion to their family;

2) Use the extra drive time to engage the sermon, listen to 1 Peter, or discuss the fasting reflection questions.

Lent may also be a good time to set aside 20-30 minutes one or more mornings each week during lent to engage morning prayer, available 4 days/week on our YouTube page. Our morning prayer community has been praying for our church all year and seen many, many answers to prayer along the way.

May the Lord bless you and keep you, make His face shine upon you, and bring you His peace!

Jordan+



Kiss the Son

Advent Denver

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Yesterday the Church began the season of Epiphany. The season’s start is marked by the Magi, in all their worldly wealth and power, bowing at the feet of Jesus, the King of kings. These were pagans whose desire for truth lead them out of idolatry into an intimate encounter with the true God of the universe. 

Yesterday the Church also joined the watching world in observing, and grieving, the opposite movement—not a forsaking of idolatry, but a further descent into idolatry. The deplorable chaos and violence that scarred our capital was a symptom of a deeper, spiritual chaos and violence. It arose within people whose hearts have made idols out of things like tribal power, a political person or party, or the white race. 

Psalm 2 opens with a question: “Why do the nations rage and the peoples plot in vain?” (1). The answer is given: Because they rebel against God and His King. Then God speaks: “As for me, I have set my King on Zion, my holy hill” (6). The Psalmist concludes: “Now therefore, O kings, be wise; be warned, O rulers of the earth. Serve the LORD with fear, and rejoice with trembling. Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and you perish in the way, for his wrath is quickly kindled. Blessed are all who take refuge in him” (10-12). 

It may sound absurd to some modern people that the Bible attributes the raging chaos of the nations to idolatry – a refusal to bend the knee and kiss Christ the Son. But it does. Why? Because the rage of the world is a spiritual sickness, one that will go on raging until we find blessed refuge in the King of kings who conquers nations with peace from the inside out, heart by heart. 

As grievous as yesterday’s events were, our judgement might be slightly restrained by a recognition that those perpetrating them are more like you and I than we care to admit. We, too, harbor idols that lash out when they are threatened. How to diagnose your own idols? Ask yourself: What causes you to swing way beyond the boundaries of the teachings of Jesus? As one pastor I know summarized:  

When we find ourselves acting or speaking in a way that violates the way of Jesus and biblical teaching (which is not hard to say about yesterday’s riot, starting with voluminous cursing of the police), we are elevating someTHING or someONE higher than the LORD in our affections, and attempting to get it by means other than His.[1] 

As we pray for our nation and her deep divisions, I pray that at Church of the Advent, this Epiphany we would be marked by the Magi’s road – walking away from our idols and finding ourselves gathered with all our gifts bowed at Jesus’s feet. Kiss the Son! There is your blessed refuge. 

God’s peace,

Jordan+

[1] https://mikemoses.typepad.com/purple_pastor/2021/01/violence-in-our-capitol-pastor-mike-to-lfc-huntersville.html

An Important Update from Pastor Jordan

Advent Denver

Hello beloved Advent family!
I'm writing to let you know the staff and I have decided to move church online only for the two weeks following Thanksgiving: Our Nov 29th and December 6th services will be online only, at 10am.

This decision is informed by three things: 1) Another anticipated surge of cases following Thanksgiving and our desire to be good neighbors to our community; 2) The reality that many Adventers will be traveling and having increased exposure over the holidays; 3) A small display love, respect, and support for our many healthcare workers and our hospitals as they are increasingly overwhelmed with cases and are fighting this battle in brave and tireless ways.

We plan to resume gathering in person for two services on December 13th, unless Denver moves from red to purple, in which case we will follow the city's increased requirements.

Although I think it is a wise decision, I grieve alongside you that this means we will not be physically together to begin Advent. It is a real loss. It may also serve as a fitting reminder that we are a people defined not by having all we desire now, but by hope - a fitting reminder during Advent as we await the restoration of all things. I continue to ask for and am so deeply thankful for your grace with the staff and I as we do our best to balance many logistical factors, levels of risk tolerance, and opinions about these kinds of choices. Really - thank you!

Alongside the bummer news, a few silver linings:

  • We've highlighted these Advent devotional resources, as a way to journey together in this season. Check them out!

  • We are excited about more Zoom Children's Ministry opportunities and some other ideas we hope you will engage with your church family. Look for more details from Brenda coming soon!

  • We will organize a Zoom Coffee Hour following each online service for those who want to stick around and connect. More details soon.

In case it is not clear, we WILL have two in person services this coming Sunday the 22nd, but will then be online only, at 10am, for Nov 29th and Dec 6th.

Remember... You are priests of God and temples of his Spirit! God's peace to you,

Jordan+

One Year and a Pandemic Later

Advent Denver

Jordan’s Installation as Rector in October 2019

Jordan’s Installation as Rector in October 2019

2020 has been challenging for so many, and maybe has even left a few wondering "Where is God?" My own experience of this year’s challenges has reminded me that the answer isn't purely academic, it's a lived experience within His body. 

This first year at Church of the Advent has been unexpected: the online ministry, the zooming, the masks, the distancing, the sudden need for janitorial expertise, the constant wondering if what we are doing is wisely managing risk while resisting unhealthy fear. Like everyone else, we've had to rethink everything we do from the ground up. We've probably made some good decisions and some bad ones. We've cared well for some and maybe not as well for others. We've been imperfectly faithful, sometimes bounding freely forward and other times hobbling slowly backwards. There've been canceled events. There've been tech glitches—so many. There've been moments of choosing to be present when it's been practically or emotionally hard. There've been what one of our staff aptly named "pivot fatigue," a sense of exhaustion coming from the need to start with plan B, but be ready to pivot to plan C, D, or E when the Covid dial moves, or a test returns positive, or a cough turns out to be innocent. There've been lost jobs, on the one hand, or on the other, healthcare workers being hit like ping-pong balls between the lulls of empty hospital beds (no elective procedures) and surges of grueling hours accompanied by the looming threat of exposure for themselves and their families. The backdrop for it all, as you are well aware, has been an acidic and politically bipolar news cycle that highlights and reinforces our worst instincts. It has coated everything in a toxic fog—the spiritual compliment to the stifling smoke blanketing our communities. Anxiety, depression, hopelessness, suicide... all on the rise. It feels a little bit like the vital organs of our society are failing. 

And yet, there has been the Church, Christ's body, an alternative society for those who embrace the call of God to find their citizenship in a different Kingdom. At Advent, our body may have been wearied by a new—less comfortable—normal, but the arteries of loving friendship, fervent prayer, spirit-and-truth-word-and-table worship have not failed. They have flourished. A thousand encouraging conversations, dozens of meals for new parents, countless texts and phone calls expressing care and concern, a few hundred feasts at parks all over the city, a million minutes of morning prayer online, back patio classes and vestry meetings, baptisms, confirmations, new members, a Bishop visit, financial gifts given for groceries and rent, offerings sent abroad to help under resourced churches, and cars given away. Counselors, business owners and employees, fathers and mothers, graduates, retirees, scientists, nurses, artists, students, singles—exploring vocation, pointed to the Words of life, sent into their spheres a little more like Jesus. An offense, a shameful sin, a confession heard. Forgiveness spoken. A political conversation, a disagreement, an intent to listen. Relationship strengthened. An ongoing place to hold onto aching grief and stubborn hope with others who know, who understand, who care. Tears of loneliness treasured by a loving friend.  Children let loose from quarantine for a Saturday afternoon birthday party buzzing, like bees pollenating a flourishing garden, with laughter. Tokens of normalcy. A sincere chorus of resurrection expectancy sent into the itching fabric reminder of our sickness. Imperfect, but faithful, because this Church family is held in the stone-strong grip of Jesus whose faithfulness is never in doubt. We hold this truth together weekly as we herald our King and his Kingdom: Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again! 

A 2020 lesson for all of us: No man is an island. If you’ve been forced to be one, or chosen to be one, you are feeling that now. I know this because I know myself. If it were not for my vocation, which helpfully challenges me outward when I am more comfortable going inward, it would have been all too easy to embrace my inner hermit this year, as I have in times past. And yet, I know the fruit is isolation, and that it is a bitter reward. The sweet fruit of belonging in a church community requires that you plant a tree in the ground—the investment of your time, talents, and resources. It is costly. 

I simply want to say thank you and well done, Advent, for your example to me, to one another, and to our neighbors and city. Thank you for being this alternative society with flourishing vitals when the world’s sickness suffocates. Thank you for making the costly investment in community this difficult and complicated year. Thank you for your grace to me and our leadership as we’ve imperfectly led you. Thank you, most of all, for your unwavering commitment to be held in the perfect faithfulness of Christ. I know it hasn’t been easy, but thank you that even when you couldn’t always go to church, you were the Church.

May the words of Christ dwell in you richly and the peace of Christ rule in your hearts in these days ahead,

Jordan+

The Evil Debate

Advent Denver

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Yes, Tuesday’s presidential debate was awful—it’s been called a low-point for democracy. But I think there is a subtle toxicity to be wary of in the response of extreme moral outrage now filling the newsfeeds. Why? 

Moral outrage implies I am superior to these men, that I have clean hands. I'm not, I don't. I wish I were incapable of such rancor, disrespect, blatant lying, racism, and captivity to power... but I believe in the chastening biblical truth that I am quite capable of such things, and more. I believe each of us is (Rom 3:10). 

Where is evil located? “Trump. Biden. Republicans. Democrats. Police. Rioters.” True enough. Evil is certainly lurking, to varying degrees, in politicians, in political parties, and in policies. Yes, because evil has established an outpost in every single human heart. Yours. Mine.  

Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn put it best: “If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”

As I reckon with my own—less nationally televised—failures, I come to recognize that moral outrage alone won't heal our country, any more than shame heals my own heart. 

Who is to blame for the debacle? Yes, individuals have ultimate responsibility for their choices, yet it would delight the dark powers if we failed to see this as a mirror for the community of our country, then to consider our own imperfections in this marred reflection. This is how things like systemic racism work: When the devils lurking in us as individuals gather into structured communities, a hellish synergy takes place, and the cherished, protected sins of our private lives form the bones and sinews of far more powerful, far more public, forces of destruction. Our sins—each of them—have stretched the sinews and hardened the bones of this Godzilla.

Though this analysis is quite bleak, it is in fact “the dark before the dawn” (Andrew Peterson). To begin with, this means I do not look down upon Biden, Trump, Republicans, or Democrats. “They”—whoever that is—are not below me, but beside me. This does not erase all moral realities, as if we are all actively cooperating with evil in the same way and measure. We are not, and some evils we encounter do rightly outrage us, yes, especially those living in our own closet. We are right to be disappointed with this public debacle, but our response should not be without remembering that we are capable of deeply disappointing behavior ourselves, or indeed that our collective behavior has fed the monster. 

Our inescapably shared condition of imperfection reorients us to what a more realistic hope is and to what a more fruitful response might be. It means that if there is not a power to change my heart—the human heart—there is no politician, party, or policy that will ever deliver the anti-racist, justice-saturated, baby-thriving, prison-breaking, immigrant-loving, law-abiding utopia God has oriented us to desire. Our hope is in Jesus, not because if we legislate his teaching, America will suddenly be healed, but because there is no other Godzilla-crushing power, no other heart-melting-and-remaking-grace, no other death-destroying-life-giving-Spirit-indwelling reality that has filled two millennia with billions of testimonies that go like this: But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved me, even when I was dead in my trespasses, made me alive together with Christ (Eph 2:4-5). In other words: God’s grace changed my heart. 

What of a more fruitful response? Responding to this ugly icon with nothing more than extreme moral outrage simply frames it and hangs it over our mantle. It becomes another excuse not to humble myself, repent, and go about the far more meaningful work of turning my tiny plot of scorched earth into a garden. 

As the story goes, The Times once sent out an inquiry to famous authors asking the question, “What’s wrong with the world today?” The best reply came from the brilliant Christian philosopher and writer G.K. Chesterton: “Dear Sir, I am. Yours, G.K. Chesterton.”

Though normally reserved for penitential seasons which we are not technically in, recently at Advent we have been beginning our worship on Sunday mornings by confessing our sins. This is a liturgical reminder that humility comes before healing. It orients us to the reality that evil outposts are also in my heart, and that the only real hope of the world is repentance—please Lord, lead us to repentance on a grand scale—and the grace of God. And so, we pray:

Most merciful God,

we confess that we have sinned against you 

in thought, word, and deed,

by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. 

We have not loved you with our whole heart;

we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.

We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.

For the sake of your Son Jesus Christ,

have mercy on us and forgive us;

that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, 

to the glory of your Name. Amen.

+ Fr. Jordan Kologe

A Farewell Letter from Father Jeromie Rand

Advent Denver

Dear Church of the Advent,

This coming Sunday, August 23rd, will be my last as a member of Church of the Advent. My family and I are moving to Fort Collins, where I will be serving as the rector of Christ Our Hope Anglican Church. I am excited about God’s call to this new adventure, but I will miss you all dearly. 

Just over ten years ago, Rob Paris sent an email to a team of people working with him to plant a church, letting them know that he was leaning toward “Church of the Advent” as the name for the new congregation “because it speaks to the coming of Jesus into the world to make things new and into our lives in a way that changes everything.” At the time, the new church was just an idea held in faith and hope by a small group of people. A decade later, Church of the Advent is much larger, but it is still a group of people who are bound by a common desire to see the gospel of Jesus Christ change everything. And now we are a people with a history: we have seen God active in us and through us as he works to make all things new.

I am honored to have been a part of many of those stories of God’s faithfulness, and I have been a witness to many more. I watched as God gave Advent a place to gather in the Baker neighborhood, and I saw him lead us into relationships with our neighbors that led to lives being changed. When our time in Baker came to an end, I saw God provide bountifully for us in the gift of our current space, where more lives have been connected with the love of Christ and the hope of the gospel. I saw God provide a home in the church for people who had been hurt, and I saw him bring healing through the love and hospitality that this community showed. I saw God raise up leaders for his church, and I saw him send them out to build other communities where the gospel could be faithfully preached and lived. I was there for moments of great joy—new children being born into our community, church camping trips, the grand celebration of baptisms—and great sorrow, particularly as we walked with the Paris family through Rob’s cancer diagnosis and death. Through all of those moments and many more, I saw a church that was faithful, a people filled with love for one another and their neighbors, a community that clung to the hope of the resurrection even when other hopes had faded away. 

God has begun a good work in you, and I am certain he will continue it to the end. I am thankful that I will not be far away, and I hope to continue to hear the stories of God’s faithfulness among you. Our stories are forever bound together through our shared history and the gift of the Spirit that unites us in love. My own life is one of the many that was changed by God’s work in Church of the Advent, and I am certain there will be many more.

In Christ,

Jeromie+

Children's Ministry - Godly Play Fundraiser

Advent Denver

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Do you remember stretching out our hands while a blessing was declared over Advent’s kids before they left our time of worship? What about the clamoring of the little feet rushing back into the sanctuary before communion, eager to share what they learned in Children’s Church? Children already have such an innate sense of the presence of God!

What you may not recall was our excitement about a new curriculum that Church of the Advent was about to implement. The Godly Play® method is a curriculum of spiritual practice exploring the mystery of God’s presence in our lives. It engages what is most exciting about religious education: God inviting us into—and pursuing us in the midst of—Scripture and spiritual experience. This approach helps kids explore their faith through story, to gain religious language, and to enhance their spiritual experience through wonder and play. You can get a sense of this curriculum as we adapted it for video early on during the pandemic. Watch the Parable of the Good Samaritan here.

Though we don't know when we will be back to our "normal" Children's Church experience, we are preparing to use Godly Play to tell the stories given to us in the Bible in a way that invites us to listen for God and to make authentic and creative responses to God’s call in our lives. During this pandemic, we have been working at getting everything in place to be ready to welcome our kids by creating a sacred children’s environment with beautiful materials and training a group of “storytellers” and “doorpersons.”

We’d love your assistance in equipping our new Godly Play classroom! It takes a lot of effort and resources to set up this space, but once it is in place, and because it uses beautiful, high-quality materials that have a long life, it can be used for many years to come. You can help in one of two ways:

1)     Directly purchase and donate a Godly Play story to Church of the Advent’s classroom.

This Google document has a list of the specific stories we would like to purchase. Please select one and put your name by the story you, your small group, or your gospel friendship group would like to give. When you order it, have it shipped to:

Brenda Wright

830 Fenton St.

Lakewood, CO 80214  

2)     Make a special donation to Advent’s Children’s Ministry Fund to be used in the purchasing of Godly Play material. 

Contributions are solicited with the understanding that Advent has complete discretion and control over the use of all donated funds for the purposes established by the Vestry for the Children’s Ministry Fund. While we will endeavor to use the funds as you desire or suggest within the Children’s Ministry Fund, we may use the gift for another purpose.

Thank you for considering supporting Advent's Children's Ministry in this way! We ask that if you do choose to give financially, that you consider doing this above and beyond your usual gift to Advent, as your regular giving is necessary for the everyday functioning and ministry of Advent.

If you have any questions about the Godly Play curriculum or stories. please contact our Children’s Ministry Coordinator, Brenda Wright, at children@adventdenver.com.

Thank you once again for the help and the encouragement with Advent’s kids so that with the help of God, they may learn to know Him, follow Jesus, serve their neighbor, and take their place within the life and worship of Christ’s Church. 

Lessons from an Arc Ambassador

Advent Denver

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Approaching our three-year anniversary of moving to the Barnum neighborhood (just North of 6th Ave near Church of the Advent), this also marks the time that my friendship with Sabrina began. My husband, Huck, and I relocated to the Westside of Denver shortly following Church of the Advent’s departure from the Baker neighborhood to our current church home in Villa Park. We hoped, along with the founder of Church of the Advent, Father Rob Paris, that we would love our neighbors well by living alongside them. Father Rob supported our one and only motive for the move wholeheartedly—which was to  engage in relationships of reciprocity with those around us.

I spent those first years in our new neighborhood walking around Barnum parks, gulches, and local businesses, one of which was a favorite only blocks from our house—the Arc.

Parents of people with developmental disabilities formed this organization in the 1950’s. The Association for Retarded Citizens of the United States adopted it’s most recent name in 1992 to eliminate the pejorative associations with the name “retarded.” Arc serves the intellectually and developmentally disabled with issues like helping them find jobs and assisting employers with adjusting places of employment to specific individuals’ needs. It also serves the community by reselling used clothing and many other household items at an affordable price for those on a tight budget.

Sabrina describes herself as a person who struggles with learning. She has lived independently for over twenty years and has been employed by Arc for the last five years. During one of my first scouting trips to Arc to find a winter coat for my grandson, I met Sabrina. She is practically incapable of squelching enthusiasm and struggles to withhold hugging people she cares about, yet her greatest inability comes about in sharing her love of Jesus—she cannot stop herself from telling others of His great love and rescue of the lost.

We have developed a deep and abiding friendship over the years. Sabrina often feels hurt and judged when people react to her and misunderstand her. I can tell you that it has been a gift for me to know Sabrina. She reads voraciously and while her genre is strictly Christian devotionals and the Bible, her wisdom spills over to all that requires care and compassion. Sabrina’s unrelenting focus on the love of Christ has been a beacon of light in these tumultuous times.

Recently, I have felt disoriented as social interaction has become more polarized. I observe that issues like wearing masks or not, or staying home versus going back to work, stir up strong reactions. In this environment where words and behaviors can be easily misconstrued, I admit that I don’t as readily share with others. Even so, God is always working. I am surprised by how He has worked in me through my relationship with Sabrina. Things that challenge me in our friendship, He uses to anchor me in the midst of all of this disturbance. I overlooked the value of Sabrina’s pattern of emphasizing certain themes in our conversation. She often repeats the same words, the same thoughts. Now I realize that these spoken truths, coming from her heart, pour over me like an anointing oil to soothe my anxious soul. These are the words she has said to me over three years every time we talk: “I just want to be close to Jesus, to know him more and more.”

I get it. I thought that I was sent to this neighborhood for those like Sabrina. All the while, God has used her to save me for such a time as this. Surely, we have achieved reciprocity in our friendship. Sabrina prefers voice-to-voice communication if meeting in person is not possible. She is faithful to call, and I am faithful to return her calls.

“How are you doing gal?!” I ask.

“Is this Loyce? I love you Loyce!!” Sabrina shouts.

“How are you friend?” I ask.

“Oh, in the Word and being thankful.”

- Loyce Burns

Resources on Race and Racism

Advent Denver

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Featured Resources:

  • Scriptures For Meditation

  • Podcast series: Scene on Radio, "Seeing White"

    A fourteen-part series exploring America’s history of racial identity, especially the concept of “whiteness” in its complexities.  There is a study guide on the website that can be used as a companion to listening.

  • Book and movie: Just Mercy, Bryan Stevenson

    Executive Director of the Equal Justice Initiative Bryan Stevenson gives faces to the policies and practices of our criminal justice system and demonstrates how our current practice mass incarceration, our lack of protection for juveniles, and our use of the death penalty can be both deeply unjust and counter-productive to the wellbeing of our society.  

  • Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness and Reconciliation, Miroslov Volf 

    Written by a theologian who specializes in issues of religion and conflict, Exclusion and Embrace is profound in its depth of insight.  Volf exposes the fear and anger that we feel towards those we consider to be “other” and calls us to join in God’s work of reconciliation. This is a challenging read, but it provides an excellent theological framework for thinking about current issues.

  • The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness, Michelle Alexander

    In this look at our criminal justice system, Michelle Alexander demonstrates how our modern prerogative of being “tough on crime”, especially the war on drugs, has served to target black Americans, essentially removing them from our society.  

  • Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates

    This book is framed as a series of letters from Ta-Nehisi Coates to his teenage son describing his own experience with the systemic injustices facing black Americans, the emotional responses he has felt as a result, and a way his son can engage those realities with integrity. It is (very explicitly) not written from a Christian perspective, so it is not a book that tells us how to think theologically about the issues of racial injustice. However, the language and emotional content is reflected in many of the voices within the Black Lives Matter movement, so reading this book is one way to listen well to those who are angry about the inequities in American society. Regardless of any differences in perspective we may have, listening well is a key first step toward reconciliation and informed action.

Additional community-generated resources:

Theology/faith

  • Divided by Faith, Emerson and Smith

  • Let Justice Roll Down, John M. Perkins

  • The Very Good Gospel, Lisa Sharon Harper

  • Race, Economics, and Apologetics, Luke Bobo

  • The Cross and the Lynching Tree, James Cone

  • Strength to Love, Martin Luther King Jr.

  • United by Faith, Michael Emerson

  • Disunity in Christ: Uncovering the Hidden Forces That Keep Us Apart, Christena Cleveland

  • Prophetic Lament: A Call for Justice in Troubled Times, Soong-Chan Rah

Biography

  • I’m Still Here: Black Dignity in A World Made for Whiteness, Austin Channing Brown

  • The Autobiography of Malcolm X, Alex Haley

  • Waking Up White, Debby Irving

  • The Heart of a Woman, Maya Angelou

  • The Autobiography of Martin Luther King Jr., Clayborne Carson

  • Rising Out of Hatred, Eli Saslow

  • The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot

  • When they Call You a Racist: A BLM Memoir, Patrice Khan-Cullors

Novels

  • Small Great Things, Jodi Picoult 

  • Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry, Mildred D. Taylor

  • The Help, Kathryn Stockett

  • No One Ever Asked, Katie Ganshert

History/Policy/Allyship

  • Stamped from the Beginning, Ibram X. Kendi

  • The Color of Compromise, Jemar Tisby

  • The Myth of Equality, Ken Wystma

  • White Fragility, Robin DiAngelo

  • The Invisible Knapsack, Peggy McIntosh

  • Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?, Martin Luther King Jr.

  • Beyond Colorblind, Sarah Shin

  • Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches, Martin Luther King Jr.

  • Be the Bridge, Latasha Morrison

  • How to Be an Antiracist, Ibram X. Kendi

  • Raising White Kids: Bringing Up Children in a Racially Unjust America, Jennifer Harvey

  • The Color of Law, Richard Rothstein

  • Me and White Supremacy, Layla F. Saad

  • Citizen, Claudia Rankine (essays, images, poetry)

Websites:

  • Repentanceproject.org

  • eji.org (Equal Justice Initiative)

  • BeTheBridge.com

  • PoorPeoplesCampaign.org

Articles:

Podcasts:

Videos:

Documentaries:

  • 13th (exploration of the 13th Amendment)

  • Just Mercy (based on the book, concerning mass incarceration and the death penalty)

  • When They See Us (about the Central Park Five)

  • Oprah Winfrey Presents: When They See Us Now (interview with the Central Park Five)

  • LA92 (Rodney King)

  • Little White Lie (story of a family in denial)

  • The Untold Story of Emmett Louis Till (biographical)

  • Whose Streets? (Black Lives Matter uprisings in Ferguson)

Dramas:

  • The Battle of Algiers (1966)

  • Guess Who's Coming to Dinner (1967)

  • The Murder of Fred Hampton (1971)

  • Blacks Brittanica (1978)

  • Mississippi Burning (1988)

  • Do the Right Thing (1989)

  • Malcolm X (1992)

  • The Glass Shield (1994)

  • A Family Thing (1996)

  • Crash (2004)

  • Ray (2004)

  • The Grace Card (2010)

  • The Help (2011)

  • The Butler (2013)

  • Fruitvale Station (2013)

  • ‘42’ (2013)

  • Red Tails (2012)

  • Selma (2014)

  • Chi-Raq (2015)

  • Race (2016)

  • Hidden Figures (2016)

  • Get Out (2017)

  • I Am Not Your Negro (2017)

Resources for Children and their Adults:

Picture book list for younger children

Books for older children

  • Stamped: Racism, Antiracism and You, Ibram X. Kendi

  • Claudette Colvin, Phillip Hoose

  • The Hate U Give, Angie Thomas

  • Dear Martin, Nic Stone

  • The Stars Beneath Our Feet, David Barclay Moore

  • White Awake, Daniel Hill

  • The Source of Self-Regard, Toni Morrison

  • Why Are All the Blacks Sitting Together in the Cafeteria?, Beverly Daniel Tatum

  • Just Mercy (Adapted for Young Adults), Bryan Stevenson

Additional Resources

A Time for EVERYTHING?

Advent Denver

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Is it really June?  I am sure I’m not the only one who feels like we’ve been robbed of a year. By all accounts, 2020 has been a tough one.  None of us planned our first six months to look like it did!  

At the turn of the year, I’ve developed the habit of setting aside a day to journal about the year that is passed and make some goals for the one ahead.  It’s become my practice to ask God for a spiritual goal - to show me a “word” for the new year, generally a godly attribute I feel led to grow in. In year’s past: Joy, gratitude, steadfastness, and grace… you get the picture.

Unfortunately in the craziness of all our transitions as 2019 turned to 2020, for the first time in many years, I did not practice this discipline. If I had asked, though, I wonder what the word would have been? I’m doubtful it would have been any of the words that have thus far dominated my year—words I would NOT have chosen, words like disequilibrium, pandemic, social distancing, injustice, death, uncertainty, and if I’m honest, on a more personal level, loneliness, isolation, untethered. I don’t like any of these words! 

Even without the craziness of Covid-19, 2020 was always going to be a shattering of routine. We’ve sought to adjust to a new city, new home, new church and denomination, distance from dear friends and the comforts that come from being known and having a shared history. We threw a new puppy into the mix for good measure.

Navigating the Pandemic while trying to find our footing has meant dealing with our fair share of discouragement, and I know each person reading this has their own unique challenges to add to an already challenging time. The more recent events around social injustice and the civil unrest threaten to put many of us over the edge! I’ve longed more than ever for the returning of the Lord. 

My friend and previous pastor often said, when you have more questions than answers, more confusion than clarity, focus and meditate on God’s word—searching for and clinging to what you DO KNOW about Him.  What do I KNOW? God is loving, just, steadfast and faithful. He sees me. He sees it all! He sees George Floyd’s family, his community, and his killer. He is sovereign and will restore and reconcile all things one day. As I meditate on these truths, and they become embedded in my heart as things I KNOW, I can hand over my anxiety to Him. 

Today, I read Ecclesiastes 3 again, and it seemed more real and applicable to life than ever before.  

A Time for Everything

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens:

    a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,

    a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build,

    a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance,

    a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

    a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away,

    a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak,

    a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace….

17  I said to myself,

‘God will bring into judgment both the righteous and the wicked,
for there will be a time for every activity, a time to judge every deed.’

If I’m honest, I am avoider of all things unpleasant when possible.  I like that there is a time to be born, but don’t want to think about the time to die.  I am all-in for the laughing and dancing, but no-thank you to the mourning.  I don’t want to refrain from embracing!  This southern girl is a hugger, and when the pandemic is over, I’m looking forward to meeting (and hugging) many more of you! 

Until then, I am trying to let this time of mourning direct me to the embrace of God and his Word. I’m trying to go to Him and be reminded what I KNOW to be true: My God is perfect love, justice, and faithfulness. He is the judge, the Savior and the Redeemer of the world, and He tells me that there is a time for everything. I can trust his sovereignty and goodness.  I can pray for the fruit of the Spirit to be born in me in ALL TIMES and that I would trust him even in the seasons that I would never choose.  

As we read Ecclesiastes 3 and apply it to our lives in 2020, what are some questions we might ask?

Lord, what is it that you are doing in my life during this particular appointed time?  

What are you doing in our culture and world that you would like me to join in?

Are there new things you want to birth or plant in me? Are there things in my life that need to die or be uprooted?

Am I remembering to dance and laugh, even as I mourn?

Am I willing to be silent and not always speak?

What should I hate and how should I love?  

What does it look like in our Christian worldview to have a time for war and a time for peace?  

Thank you Lord that you hold us, you see us, you walk with us and comfort us.  Thank you that Your Word assures us that there really is a time for everything, even though there are many things we would not choose.  Thank you that as the Holy Spirit indwells us, we are never alone in our mourning or in our celebrating, you are our comfort and help in troubles.  Thank you for forgiving us of all our many sins and calling us your sons and daughters. Thank you that you have placed us in the Body of Christ, your church, so that we have community and companionship even in a pandemic and can’t physically be together.  We love you Lord, be our strength.  Amen. 

- Corinne Kologe

The Voices in My Head

Advent Denver

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I had fully intended to reply and say something about how I didn’t have enough bandwidth to write anything for the Advent Journal. I was feeling that I had nothing left to give COVID. 

What instead came out were the voices that I have been hearing over the past 3 months, and permanently rattling around in my brain, and loudly. What came out in 15 minutes were the hurried, chaotic words of those around me. Some loving, some grieving, some angry, and many tired. 

These are the voices of others in COVID season. I am not sure what they mean. Perhaps in time I will. I know God’s voice is in there somewhere speaking truth.

“If it means that someone else could live from a freed up ventilator, my father would want that…he has lived an amazing life.  Please help my husband, he is the world to his nine children. We are ruling him out for COVID. Thank you for everything you all are doing. What about hydroxychloroquine? What do you mean I can’t visit my mother in the hospital, this may be the last time I ever can see her alive. When are you going to be home? The kids miss you. We are running out of masks.  I can’t come to visit him, I am the only one able to care for our child. What about Remdesivir? Free pizza in the break room. He lived through three deployments, and this is the thing that will kill him? Everybody please take a medallion, my mother had them blessed by the priest. We have been married for 67 years, I can’t imagine life without him. I need to be tested. I love you. God is the great healer. Your battery pack for your PAPR is almost dead.  Why is he not getting any better? These people are so sick. We lost 217 overnight. Are you finished with the COVID extubation guidelines?  I feel ashamed, I am certain I am the one who got my sister sick. The family has decided to withdrawal on 229. This is the worst CT scan I have ever seen. He wouldn’t want to be stuck on life support. How could he have COVID, we only went out to get groceries?  What happens if we run out of ventilators?  We are running out of gowns. Did you read the New England Journal of Medicine study that came out this AM, looks like hydroxychloroquine is a bust.  You are in our prayers every day.  I am pregnant, I hope I wasn’t exposed. My suspicion is low for COVID, but you know, we have to check everyone these days. Your team is in my prayers.  How is your family holding up?  I need to speak to my brother, why is no one calling back?  Why are there so many Asian patients affected? Why are there so many Hispanic patients affected? Why are there so many Black patients affected? She is a fighter, she raised 5 girls.  There are so many, they just keep coming. What? I can’t hear with this PAPR on. Intubate, line, line, prone. Rinse, lather, repeat. I need to transfer this patient to you, we are out of options. What can I do to help?  We need more PPE, why don’t they understand. Time of death 14:32. It is so hot in this gown. My father lives with me and he is frail, what if I bring this home with me from the hospital? Did you even go home last night?  She would want everything done possible. This is all a hoax. The COVID unit is full, we need to open up the overflow unit. Can you smell this scent, if so your N95 doesn’t fit.  Please don’t let my wife die. Is she getting any better? I know you’re gonna be surprised, but there is another COVID in the ED.  We have never been asked to do this before. I am so worried about my mother in New York. Free BBQ in the break room. What about convalescent serum? I am so tired of COVID. The coroner wants to know if this is COVID related? I lost my job and couldn’t handle it anymore, I just wanted it to be over. Free coffee in the breakroom.  Why is it taking so long to get the COVID test results back, it was sent over a week ago? I’m so glad you didn’t give up on that patient.  The nurses are worried about 441, his oxygen needs are increasing on the floor.  This seems unsafe. Thank you for all you have done, he is home now and doing great. I need the protocol draft of how to split a ventilator for 2 patients by morning. What about tocilizumab? I am gonna gain so much weight during COVID season. Did you hear 225 was finally discharged? The staff lined the hallway to say goodbye. I wonder if I already have antibodies, I would love to help out others.  Dad, when will coronavirus be over?”

I don’t know what all this means. Perhaps I will in time. But I am sure God is present in the middle of this somewhere. 

- Nate Little, MD

Pulmonary/Critical Care Physician

Making Our Home in the Father's Love: Remembering Again Rob's Legacy

Advent Denver

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There is a lot going on around us right now—much to grieve, much darkness to face, much injustice to be righted, many wounds to be healed, much needed restoration. I’m grateful for wise voices within our Anglican denomination who have spoken to these things. If you haven’t already, take a moment to read this letter from Bishops Jim Hobby, Todd Hunter, Stewart Ruch and Steve Wood. Or listen to Pastor Jordan’s video message to us.

But today, I want to speak a little bit to our own grief—the loss of our dear friend and pastor, Rob Paris. In the midst of the darkness of our personal grief (and that of our country and world), I’d like to shine a light. That light is the legacy which Rob left us—the things he taught us and the ways he pointed us back to “making our home in the Father’s love.”

_______________

Naming Our Scripts - Vulnerability

I’ve been going through Rob’s Relational Discipleship curriculum with a few women at Advent, and I have been struck with Rob’s teaching on our “scripts”—the messages in our stories that we've been given from our parents, our communities, our personalities, etc. These “scripts” have incredible power to shape how we view our identity, relationships, and work/vocation. 

I'm also finding, personally, that these "scripts" are speaking stronger in this unique time of stress—speaking old lies about my identity, my relationships, and my vocation/work. Lies such as: "You should be stronger. You should be able to handle this season better." Or "Don't be too much in this season. Being too _______ makes you unloveable.” Going through Relational Discipleship has been such a gift in this time, as it has provided space for me to name these lies in the presence of God and other believers—and to name them as false.

This is one of the most beautiful things Rob invited us into, and modeled consistently himself—the value and power of vulnerability in community. In honor of Rob’s legacy of vulnerability, I asked several men and women at Advent to share the “scripts” they have been struggling under in the last few months. Here are some of their answers:

  • “Don’t make yourself yourself seen or heard—people don’t want what you have to offer, and it’s better to fade out.”

  • "Wow; you're REALLY on your own right now!”

  • "I'm letting God, myself, and others down.”

  • “If you were a better person, more lovable, spent more time and effort building relationships, you wouldn’t be so lonely.”

  • “Don’t be so weak and needy.  That’s not the way to have friends.”

  • “You've worked hard and are entitled to more ______ (time to myself, possessions, adventures, etc).”

  • "You're alone, and no one cares about you or sees you.”

  • "Other people know how to handle these kinds of situations, but you're inept and inadequate.”

  • "Your life is good, and your situation is easy. You have no right to be upset and afraid.”

  • "How can you be a good parent when you're so childish?”

  • "If you plan ahead and make good decisions, you will remain safe and in control." 

  • “No one else is going to take care of me, so I better figure it out myself. Everyone else needs me to be the one to take care of them and meet their needs; I can't count on anyone else to meet mine, so I'd better find a way to either not have any needs or meet them by myself. However, I'm not really equipped to do this well, so I will probably mess it up.”

  • “Failure in parenting. Mainly I am not sure what the ideal is but I am believing that I surely fall short of it.” 

  • “I’m on my own. It’s all up to me.”

  • "I'm responsible and prepared! Therefore, everything will be okay.”

  • “I'm weak, on my own, and without adequate resources. I'm feeling that my relationships are only ok when I have things to give and, at the same time, that people in my life are beating me down… leaving me with even less to give.”

  • “My worth is in how much I protect and take care of myself, how much I’m needed or loved by others.”

  • “No one knows me, and nobody cares to know me, and that means ultimately I'm not worth knowing. Literally, I'm a nobody."

  • “I'm alone and feel lonely. It’s because other people don't want to be close to me. This makes me either cling to people as if they're the only source of consolation, or push them away in hurt as if they don't deserve my love.” 

  • “My script is constantly berating my inner child as being useless in her fear, uncertainty, and tenderness. I bring that to my parenting by being overly harsh with my children to get them to 'toughen up’ so that no one can hurt them, and so I don't have to be reminded of my own inadequacies, failures, and fears. I sometimes fear I'm becoming the voice in their heads that's berating them.

Which of these “scripts” do you resonate with?

What are the lies you been struggling not to believe in this time? What scripts have been turned up in volume right now?

Where can you name these vulnerably, in community?

Making Our Home in the Father’s Love

So what now? What has the power to re-write these scripts? What can change how we see ourselves, our relationships, and our work/vocation?

This brings me to the second part of Rob’s legacy which I want to remind us of—his invitation to “make our home in the Father’s love.” It is here that these scripts are silenced, that they are re-written by the truth of how our Father sees us. 

But how do we do this? Here are some of the ways those I asked are seeking to “make their home in the Father’s love”:

  • Taking intentional time to be quiet, being in nature, and morning prayer.

  • Perhaps the best way I've been able to enter into the Father's love is through music. Josh Garrels recently released a new album, called "Peace to All Who Enter Here", and I've been listening to it over and over again. While I may not currently be at home in the Father's love, Josh's music is a warmly-written invitation to come over to my Father's house and break bread with him for a while. When I finally get there, I'm sure I'll find all the worth, happiness, and fulfillment I could ever desire.

  • Continuing to meet as a small group makes me feel both less afraid and less alone. Seeing my dear ones every week also reminds me that I'm dear to them. It also reminds me that even though we're all apart, we are all still Christ's body.

  • Listening to, and meditating on, the lessons from recent Sundays has reminded me of God's fatherly provisions for me. I was especially touched by the sermon on Jesus being the Good Shepherd. That he embraces me, knows me, and protects the fearful child that I still am are truths that I needed to hear and hold onto. 

  • Talking through this dynamic [the script of needing to maintain personal control] with Christian friends is very helpful.  I end up confessing my desire for control and deliberately "handing things back" to the Father in prayer, acknowledging that I'm vulnerable and dependent on Him.

  • Finding the spiritual markers in my life—the times in my recollection where God has certainly guided or shown Himself to me. The clarity is twofold: Time has given me the gift of seeing God in my past; then that begets the clarity of truth: God does not abandon his children.

  • Speaking the lie out loud to a friend and/or to God in a journal

  • Sitting still and quiet for a few minutes to breathe slowly, notice my feelings, and imagine Jesus consoling me

Where have you “made your home in the Father’s love” in the last few months?

Where have you encountered God? What practices allow you to rest into His love for you once again, re-writing the lying scripts?

Rob reminded us regularly of Christ’s invitation to welcome Him in, and then He would come and feast with us. Where have you experienced this in the last few months?

Has it been difficult in this season to “make your home in the Father’s love”? Have you felt more starved than feasting?

I, personally, really appreciated the honesty of several people who replied to me expressing how difficult “making their home in the Father’s love” has been in the last months. One person wrote, “To be honest, I've not been at home in the Father's love over the last 2 months. It has been a stressful time without healthy spiritual disciplines.” I’ve struggled with this as well.

But I’ve been encouraged by remembering something from Macrina Wiederkehr’s book A Tree Full of Angels: Seeing the Holy in the Ordinary. Macrina names the difficulty that sometimes a feast with God seems out of reach; sometimes we feel like we are starving rather than feasting with Christ. Her invitation in chapter 3 is to gather the crumbs. God breaks into our days in numerous small ways. He offers Himself in numerous small gifts. Macrina’s point is that if we can learn (by the help of the Spirit) to notice and truly savor even the smallest of these places where God comes to us—if we can gather these “crumbs”—then maybe they will be enough for a meal.

Where might God be inviting you—even in the tiniest of ways and places—to notice Him and His love?

What would it look like to take moments throughout your day to savor these things? To “find your home in the Father’s love” in the small moments of your days?

If you’d like to share or process some of the things that surfaced for you in reading this, we’d love to chat with you!

- Pastor Stacey Cooper

Stages of Quarantine Grief

Advent Denver

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Stage 1: Knowledge

Having previously lived in China for three years, I had friends who notified me early on about the new coronavirus and the seemingly outrageous restrictions being put in place across their country. For a while it felt like I was ahead of the curve on knowledge of what was coming, but it turns out extra awareness was not enough to prepare me for my experiences in quarantine.

As a five on the enneagram, I take comfort and identity from knowing facts and numbers. When the first cases appeared outside of China and in the United States, I did my best to stay informed. While part of me was already sad for the tens of thousands infected in China and those starting to be affected elsewhere, I think I largely distracted my heart and mind by studying and analysis.  

Stage 2: Confusion

 At some point, however, the numbers and facts about the virus stop being effective as a coping mechanism and just add to the feeling of being overwhelmed. Just when the numbers were becoming monotonous, and I realized I would have to face my emotions eventually, I received a message that changed everything. My childhood best friend told me that his younger sister had died unexpectedly. I grew up seeing her almost every week, and now suddenly she was gone. On top of that, my best friend’s grief seemed impossible for me to fully comprehend or sympathize with. Suddenly my feeling of helplessness in that situation swelled together with the suppressed tide of pandemic-related emotions to become a series of waves of confusion that continuously overwhelmed me.

As people attempted to comfort me, messages like ‘how terrible’ or ‘maybe something good will eventually come from this’ or ‘I’ll be thinking and praying for you and for their family’ honestly weren’t much help, as true or well-intentioned as they might have been. To make matters worse, I felt equally helpless in my ability to comfort my friend and his family in their loss. I also found myself thinking of other family members, friends, and college students who struggle with anxiety and depression, and I wondered where God was in the midst of all of it and why He wasn’t acting sooner or more powerfully.

 Stage 3: Mourning for the presence of the Lord

 Somewhere in my confusion, I was reminded of Jordan’s sermon on the death of Lazarus and the invitation to call upon Jesus, especially when we are confused about His timing or feel like He isn’t there. Admittedly, despite spending prolonged time in prayer, at first nothing seemed to change. Slowly, however, I began to recognize the Lord working and meeting me in various ways: 

In our small group discussions about Keller’s Prayer, where he states, “In some ways prayer is simply connecting Jesus to your absolute helplessness, your sense of fragility and dependence… to pray is to accept that we are, and always will be, wholly dependent on God for everything” (p.128).

In the echoes of hurt, but also faith, from others in Advent’s virtual morning prayer. 

In the realization that Sara’s invitation from Ecclesiastes to enter the house of mourning was not a thought experiment but a reality, a place where wisdom about the brokenness of the world and the need to rely on God could both be found.

In scriptures on the power of presence.  One example is Job’s friends, who are best known for giving bad advice and misunderstanding the way God works. They actually started off well by deciding to go and be with Job, and “when they saw him from a distance, they could hardly recognize him; they began to weep aloud, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads. Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights. No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was” (2:12-13). These friends were powerfully present for their friend Job in the midst of his suffering.

At the end of that book, God also shows up. It is the Lord’s presence, not a logical answer to suffering or explanation of future plans, which transforms Job’s life and gives him hope. The Lord’s presence in Scripture is often accompanied by fear and awe but also comfort and transformation. God is present with Moses at the burning bush and with the people of Israel in their exodus from suffering and enslavement in Egypt.  He is present in the temple as well as with the prophets whenever he is needed most. And God is most tangibly present with humanity at the cross where he takes on and redeems all the suffering and sin and brokenness of the world. Then God is present in new ways via the Holy Spirit working in the disciples and in the church. And God will be fully present when he renews the world one last time in the end.  

 In the face of the brokenness of pandemic, personal loss, and other injustices or suffering we encounter, thoughts alone will not provide the comfort we seek. Based on my experience in quarantine, however, I believe the Lord and His presence will ultimately comfort and redeem. By His grace, let us all continue to trust Him and to seek His presence through prayer, through the Word, and through His church body. Amen.

- Jason Rhine

Holding Vigil for a Groaning World (and Our Own Hearts)

Advent Denver

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To bear witness to those who sleep in death (1 Thess. 4:13) from a cruel virus, we keep watch and wait for the Lord. While the outside world groans, we hold space for it and our own suffering within. 

“Doesn’t it feel like the whole world is groaning?” My wife, KJ, asked me this as we drove up Mt. Evans a month ago, hoping to breathe some fresh (and safe!) air and take in the views while our hearts felt heavy. We were coming to terms with the pandemic, that the world had seemingly changed overnight, and our own lives with it. It felt like too much to hold inside, even as we stood outside our car overlooking the beautiful expanse of Colorado. That’s when the idea—or invitation—of vigil arose in us. 

One definition describes vigil as: an act of staying awake, especially at night, in order to be with a person who is very sick or dying, or to make a protest, or to prayWe started holding vigil in this way a few weeks ago. We ordered some nice candles and light them in our living room most nights before bed. We do it for 10-15 minutes, usually with some hymns or instrumental music.

It is hard for me to hold space for real people suffering when I’m looking at epidemiology models (and boy do I!). Numbers quickly become numb-ing. It’s easy to think, “Oh good! We had less than 2000 deaths today.” It’s not as easy for me to remember the thousands in mourning, or my friend’s family, who didn’t get to say goodbye to a loved one lost to Covid-19. How about the frontline workers forced to absorb so much trauma right now, for which years or decades of PTSD await? Or the thousands thrust into deeper poverty and domestic abuse? The magnitude of suffering is so great that it’s elusive. 

We’re all carrying grief in different forms. We hurt physically and emotionally from various threads and losses in our stories. A prolonged global crisis doesn’t subdue these; it funnels us to revisit them, if my experience is any indication. We hold vigil, then, to let light hold our darkness. We “set a table in the presence of our enemy,” as my wife writes, “where we…welcome the God who still holds this world together.” Christians (and certainly Anglicans!) are no stranger to liturgy and symbol. Lighting candles and holding vigil may be one way we can practice presence during Covid-19. Whatever the practice, I encourage you to find ways to protest the paralyzing hum of distractions, the disembodied drumbeat of data, and the gospel according to “fast and forward” that steals us away from love.  

The voice of evil would have us deflect a tragedy from penetrating our hearts and reduce it to a callous “issue” devoured by politics. “Out of sight (and body), out of mind.” The voice of Jesus would invite us to engage our senses, to be moved by the suffering around us and inside of us, and to open our own hearts to healing unattended wounds. 

God, I confess a spirit of pragmatism that devises future outcomes and dishonors present pain: others’ and my own. I confess, also, a propensity in my heart to look away, to numb out, to encounter suffering and do nothing in response—a dangerous spiritual inertia. Lord, have mercy. 

On the night before he died, Jesus asked his disciples to hold vigil on his behalf and in solidarity with his suffering. He said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me” (Mt. 26:38). And again: “Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation” (v. 41). He later found them asleep. I believe one of the temptations in the face of suffering is to “fall asleep” to it. Where might we notice this temptation today? What could it look like to “stay awake” with Jesus and protest the darkness during this season? 

It might look like lighting candles in a room before bed. It might look like regular journaling to engage our own hearts and petition for others. I hear there is morning prayer offered somewhere on YouTube! Or attentive prayer walks. Or a few minutes of silent listening in God’s presence. Connect deeply and routinely with a friend (or small group) with whom you can acknowledge your losses. It might be all these things as a liturgy for life, born in a pandemic. It won’t look like bypassing anyone’s pain—yours included—with anxious silver linings or platitudes. Sara Bartley’s Lenten message from Ecclesiastes feels all the more prophetic: “Let us go into the house of mourning…” Christians do not sow in tears (Ps. 126:5) because we are masochists but because wisdom asks it of us. We face the reality of the world head on even as we look to the gospel.  

Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. As we hold space for suffering, we remember that we share in His. As we keep watch in the time of Covid-19, we encounter Christ in us, the hope of glory (Col. 1:27), and we long for His return with great anticipation.

I wait for the Lord, my whole being waits,

And in his word I put my hope. 

I wait for the Lord

More than watchmen wait for the morning,

More than watchmen wait for the morning. 

- Ps. 130:5-6

- Ryan Ramsey

A Corinthian in Quarantine

Advent Denver

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Sometime south of five in the morning (four-thirty?), I’m lying in bed when I hear a noise. Seconds before I register what’s happened, my fuzzy sublingual thoughts flutter. In the pre-dawn dark, my sheets are somehow the softest thing I’ve ever felt. Cozily inert, at any moment I could lapse back into dreaming. But then it sinks in. My son is crying. And not just fussing, but full-on, I’m-awake, I-need-mom, crying. My denial ratchets up to frustration, frustration boils into rage, and rage cools into mopey self-pity. Though I have been up in the night nursing him three or four times already, I rise. Walking to his room I think the following — not super poetic — thoughts: I love sleep. I need sleep. I deserve sleep. 

Most days, these days, my thoughts follow a similar train. Like many of you, I’m on week seven of sheltering-in-place, at home with my kids, all-day-every-day. With adoring grandparents and attentive preschool teachers kept away by the coronavirus quarantine and a husband kept busy by work, it falls to me to care for my kiddos. And I’m tired. So very tired. As the weeks wear on and fatigue sets in, I’m noticing a widening chasm between what I want to do (lie on the couch, eat cake, stress-read the New Yorker) and what I’m called to do (instruct my children, feed my family, model the gospel). And it has become easy, sitting in this chasm, to think about my rights, to think about what I deserve. “I work hard,” I think, “I deserve some ‘me’ time.” “I deserve kids who obey instead of whining.” Or, my favorite, “I deserve to drink my coffee in silence.”

I’m going to go ahead and call it divine timing then, that in this season, my small group has been reading through 1 Corinthians. We’ve made it through the first 10 chapters so far. In reading this letter, I’m remembering — slowly, because I have a stubborn heart — that my life’s work as a Christian does not consist in getting what I think I deserve, in me exercising my rights, but rather in honoring and protecting and even sacrificing myself for the rights of others.

Despite the differences of time and place, the culture to which Paul is writing is recognizable enough to me. It’s not too different from my own. Corinth was privileged, morally-permissive, and self-consciously intellectual. A bustling metropolis, a port-city with port-city morality, a hot-spot both for the worship of love and sex — Corinth featured a temple to the goddess Aphrodite, and consorting with temple prostitutes was normal behavior — and the worship of the liberated mind. Though located in Greece, Corinth was a Roman colony, and citizenship formed an integral part in the Corinthians’ sense of self. Romans thought of themselves as the only truly “free” people, placing a premium on the liberties of its citizens.

Paul addresses a ton of problems within the church, but it seems to me that most have a common root: Corinthian Christians lived to satisfy themselves, acting as if they had no obligation to each other. There’s the man sleeping with his stepmom, an offense so gross and so brazen, Paul says, that unbelievers would blush to do such a thing. Nonetheless, the man felt justified in doing so because his version of “freedom in Christ” exempted him from social and moral norms. Another man was suing his Christian brother, entrusting his grievance to the authority of the Roman satellite courts instead of seeking conciliation. Of course, he had every right to do this as a Roman citizen. And then there is the somewhat byzantine discussion about eating meat sacrificed to temple idols. Some in the church felt it immoral to eat what was essentially leftovers from pagan rituals (N. T. Wright points out these believers probably once ate in tandem with having sex with temple prostitutes, and therefore the meat was a triggering reminder of their old, sin-filled lives). Anyway, the people in the “pro-meat” camp thought those in the “anti-meat” camp weren’t being open-minded enough. Meat is just meat, they said, and idols are just idols, so it’s totally okay to eat. The church at Corinth was just a hot mess of self-justified decadence and bickering. And, if I’m honest, I relate to these struggles much more than I’d like to.

Interestingly, when he talks about each of these misfires, Paul focuses less on the ramifications for the individual sinner than on the damage their actions did to the church as a whole. The man caught in sexual sin? Paul says, if he won’t give up this habit, don’t let him hang around. Soon everyone will think what he’s doing is fine, and the corrupted purity of the church will destroy many lives. The man who is suing his brother? Better to let himself be wronged and cheated. Why put trust in pagan authorities instead of mutually submitting to each other and to Christ? And what of those of “weak conscience” who won’t eat meat sacrificed to idols? If seeing others in the congregation eating throws them into spiritual agony, isn’t it better simply for everyone to refrain? On all counts, Paul insists, Christians need to think about how their actions — the exercise of their rights — affect other people. His conclusion? It is far better to lay down your rights than to compromise your brothers and sisters. 

It needs hardly to be said, but this way of thinking about liberty radically contradicts what the world offers. The world encourages you to put yourself first. To “treat yourself.” To put on your own oxygen mask before helping another. Well-meant as they may be, I bend these phrases to selfish ends. They are the words I remember, conveniently, when I’m sick of serving other people. Paul’s advice is different, and tough. Instead of giving into your body’s desires, instead of insisting on your own way, “give [your] body rough treatment, and make it [your] slave, in case, after announcing the message to others, [you yourself] should end up disqualified” (1 Corinthians 9:27 N. T. Wright’s translation). Wright clarifies, “the body needs to be brought into submission, into ‘slavery.’” This means that “[a]ll the much-boasted ‘freedom’ and ‘rights’ that some in Corinth were so keen on must give way before the needs of the work of the gospel. He concludes, “many things the body wants to do, has a right (in theory) to do, and is ‘free’ to do, must be denied” (NT Wright, Paul for Everyone: 1 Corinthians, 119). And Paul isn’t being some macho gnostic grunt, he is, in fact, following the highest example of Christ. Christ, “[w]ho, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death — even death on a cross!” (Philippians 2:6-8). My only hope, my only health, must be to look to the example of Paul, and to Paul’s example, Christ Jesus. The more I fix my eyes on Jesus, the less fixated I become with my own needs. In beholding him, I become less beholden to my desires. 

So what does this look like practically for a weary mother trying to make it through quarantine? For me, I think, it means not resenting my children simply because, in their weakness, they need me. It means thinking twice before I grumble about the work God has given me to do, because June will learn from me what it means to “work at [whatever you do] with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men” (Colossians 4:23). It means repenting unceasingly instead of holding rigidly aloof and insisting on my privacy. It means playing with Jonah when he whines and fusses, instead of sulking that my baby is behaving like a baby. It means laying down my cherished right to an aesthetically-pleasing and socially-relaxed dinner in the service of loving and feeding two loud and messy people. When tempers run hot and a fight breaks out, it means being the first to lay down my sword. When my children tantrum and defy me, it means demonstrating, hour by hour, how to submit in love. When I have come to the end of myself — and I get there very quickly these days — it means saying the shortest and best prayer I know, “Lord, I am weak. Be my strength.”

(By the way, please hear me when I say: rest is important. God did not create us to run like machines that never break down. In my pride, I often insist that I’m capable of holding it all together without God’s help. I think what Paul is talking about when he’s advocating for bringing the body into submission is to acknowledge both the body’s waywardness and our creaturely needs for sleep, sustenance, and human connection. This is a recognition of our dependence, not our rights. I often remind myself that Jesus gave us the example of total sacrifice while also tenderly inviting us to cast all our cares upon him.) 

On that recent morning that my son woke me early, I received an unexpected benediction. As I held my sleep-heavy child in my arms and rocked him, the sun rose with undeniable gentleness. Rarely, of my own volition, do I get up to see what then I saw. Bands of shell-pink and downy blue light bled on the horizon. By degrees, I could see the outline of my garden emerge from the mist. Quietly at first, and then with great joy, a clutch of robins called and a chickadee sang in my neighbor’s catalpa tree. Again I was stilled, brought by obligation, by the laying down of my body, back into the presence of God.  

- Lisa Elmers

For further reading, check out: Wright, N. T. Paul for Everyone: 1 Corinthians. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003. 

To Feel or Not to Feel: The Exposing Effects of COVID-19 on Avoidance

Advent Denver

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Living through a pandemic is incredibly difficult. Everywhere you look, you see another announcement about the virus, people getting sick, new orders from the government, people fighting on the internet, economic difficulties, and you name it. COVID-19 has likely changed the way we will operate for a considerable amount of time, and people are trying to process this trauma in numerous ways. Let’s take a moment to discuss one of these ways that we might process the pain of COVID-19 that could eventually backfire and assert there is a richer and more meaningful way of processing this experience that might lead to greater mental and spiritual development.

Avoidance. What a strange concept to apply to emotions and COVID-19! Psychologically speaking, avoidance occurs when an event/situation is too difficult to endure, and to rid ourselves of the pain, we search for methods to get away from that pain as fast as humanely possible. This can be done through a myriad of numbing strategies such as drug/alcohol issues, sexual addiction, work, exercise, internet, school, eating, sarcasm, minimizing statements, and the list just goes on and on. Most of the time, this happens outside of our conscious awareness through old dusty archaic patterns that we likely developed when we were children.

It can actually be a pretty nifty psychological maneuver that, when used correctly, can be a coping skill that is helpful in the short-term, but over the long-term, it is a different story. It can steal your capacity for joy and intimacy just as quick as it can steal your pain, and actually, I would argue it doesn’t truly take away the pain. The pain just sits there, festers, and decides to come out in adverse ways at inconvenient times. Avoidance promises that you will be safe from pain or shame, but eventually, those isolated and unwanted feelings will hurt you. 

Let’s get a little more personal. I’ve had avoidant tendencies for as long as I can remember and attempted to escape from my negative emotions through numerous methods. During this pandemic, I have struggled with anxiety about finding a job. Graduating from seminary into the midst of a pandemic with the threat of recession looming ahead was not something I had anticipated. The anxiety, impatience, and feelings of inadequacy that arose have tempted me to fall back into old patterns of avoidance and disconnection to escape. At times, this option feels easier, less vulnerable, and safer. However, I am learning that running away from my fears and anxieties doesn’t actually make them go away, but learning to be curious, non-judgmental, reflective, and open about my feelings with God and others has helped calm my anxiety, leading to a deeper and more present way of being. I continuously need to be reminded that there is hope, even amidst the storm.

During this trying season, we might feel tempted to avoid and diminish our difficult feelings, which include anxiety over our jobs & getting sick, sadness for what has been lost (like gathering as a community), or stress over the economy. Another example might be to minimize the difficulties faced and make trite (hopefully well-meaning) statements that, while theologically true, are not helpful to those in pain. But, it does not have to be this way. As humans, we were designed with a capacity to feel a deep and wide range of emotions. In life, there is a season for everything as we are told in Ecclesiastes 3:1-8:

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:

a time to be born, and a time to die;

a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;

a time to kill, and a time to heal;

a time to break down, and a time to build up;

a time to weep, and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

a time to seek, and a time to lose;

a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

a time to tear, and a time to sew;

a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

a time to love, and a time to hate;

a time for war, and a time for peace.

It is good to be able to weep, to mourn, to lament, to laugh, to love. We have been given a beautiful gift to be able to feel the deep and wide range of emotions that God has granted us. Not only can these difficult emotions be experienced in healthy ways during trials, those same trials that produce difficult emotions can increase your capacity to grow more into the image of God and increase your love of God and neighbor. As James tells us in chapter 1, trials will produce steadfastness and perseverance, both of which are needed traits as we journey through life. Thus, avoidance actually hinders our development! This doesn’t mean dealing with difficult emotions during this season will be easy. Typically, this is an incredibly painful journey to trek, but it is worth it.

If, during this time, you find the urge to run away and hide from your painful feelings by binging The Office and checking out, just know that this season can be a catalyst for deeper intimacy with the One who created you and desperately loves you. It might help to quietly and non-judgmentally check in with yourself once a day, being committed to radical openness and honesty, and start a journal where you jot down different thoughts and feelings. As well as this, discussing your difficult feelings with someone trusted, whether it be a spouse, friend, pastor, spiritual director, or counselor, can be a beautiful and worthwhile step towards participation in the restoration of the imago Dei within you. I pray for you during this painful, yet worthwhile and meaningful journey. I promise you it’s worth it.

- Josiah Greever

The Prodigal Seven

Advent Denver

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One of the natural consequences of a state-wide stay-at-home order is that it enforces – at the very least – a smaller space to live and breathe and think. No matter how many trips around the park for our “essential” exercise, or how many laps around our yard, the space is small, confining, in comparison to the roads and schedules we tread a few months ago. This confining brings simplicity to our routines and a focus to the things that are immediately pressing. For me, what’s pressing is three tiny people who need everything (everything!), and the ongoing saga of finding a home in our new city before our landlord gives us the boot. And let me tell you: When I’m distilled down to the dregs of myself in a forced confinement and confronted daily (hourly?) with my thoughts and feelings in parenting and home buying –  I’m left confronted by parts of myself that I’d rather not see.  

I’m an Enneagram Seven. Usually, that means I see the potential in everything - what it could be.  As a potential home buyer, it means 1000 things in a home I would change if I could. As a quarantined mom of preschoolers it means 1000 things that I can be doing to shepherd little hearts faithfully and 1000 ways proceed in lofty educational endeavors. Apparently, my Seven goes into hyperdrive when in a mandated stay-at-home order. And it may come as no surprise that the dark side of “seeing the potential in everything” can be “seeing the lack in everything” and refusing to accept what is as a gift. Instead, things must be improved, accomplished, refined, and perfected. Better. I say. It could be better.

And that’s not necessarily a good thing. Often, when Jesus could be doing, - improving, addressing, perfecting  - he was waiting. He was resting. He was praying. He was wasting. *GASP* No! Wasting!? The chief of all sins! But, he did. He wasted time before going to Bethany. He tarried in a garden. He wandered in a seriously incredibly long fast. He rested when it seemed like he should be doing. I think that’s one of the things that’s foreign to me about Jesus. 

I don’t waste time. I don’t really sit, come to think of it. Even right now, I’m typing this standing up. It takes a lot to get me to slow my roll. As I’ve had my roll literally slowed by the U.S. government and entered this mandated rest, I see how unrest is a constant temptation. What I’m doing with the kiddos - it’s not enough, is it? It’s not as good as it could be, anyway. What I’m looking for in a house – is it good enough?  And then there is what all this does to my own sense of self: I could be better, less critical, and more grateful. Inevitably, I’m humbled by the way this brokenness comes out in the way I parent. How I wish I could exchange all the ugly critical moments and unfair expectations of my kiddos for something that better reflected the heart of Jesus.  And maybe that's the best part of this quarantine, a chance to embrace a stillness, the gentleness of a slower pace for my kiddos and for myself.

I know it myself, truly, that there is so much good in a peaceful “enough.” In a house with tons of imperfections. It’s enough. In the heart or head still in process with a long way to go. It’s enough. I know it at the end of myself, truly, but what do little hearts need most but to be met where they are, loved before the fixing, before the best of themselves? To know that by God’s grace, they are enough. Remember the father in the story of the Prodigal Son? He ran to his son “while he was still a long way off.” Not when he was there at his doorstep or “when the repentant son was way further along in his spiritual journey than his father expected.” Nope. He was still a long way off.

I’ve been reading 40 Days of Decrease through Lent, and I found this passage incredibly relevant to my current state:

“In the words of Rabbi Abraham Hershel, ‘Labor is a craft, but perfect rest is an art.’ Those who have lost loved ones may need to linger in that favorite old chair. The one who has suffered a miscarriage may need to give herself permission to mourn instead of rushing to put everything away. The entrepreneur may need unhurried days...to reminisce as he packs up an office after an unsuccessful business venture.”

It may come as no surprise (to those who are good at waiting) that there’s a purpose in lingering. In slowing down and embracing the gift of what is without dwelling on the way it could be made more efficient, more productive, more... So, here I am, a Seven trying to find contentedness and stillness and rest. These are things that can be hard in trying to buy a home in a vast city and in endeavoring to teach preschoolers. I obviously don’t think God wants my desires, nor my propensities for improvement, to be wiped clean; I just think a natural good thing can be distorted and taken into unhealthy directions and, frankly, be made an idol. I think God just wants to smooth out the harsher edges, gently shaping me into something a little more rested and a little more content. Honestly, I am still a long way off, but the funny thing is—I think the remedy is stillness and simplicity. This quarantine is small, confining, and difficult in many ways. I’d never chose it for myself, but possibly, if I’m attentive to the invitation to rest, there is a grace in it for me that is just what the government ordered. 

- Jennie Kologe

Looking Ahead

Advent Denver

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A few years ago, I attended an Eastern Orthodox Easter celebration. I joined the congregation at 11:30pm on Saturday night; the ritual and holy things were already well under way. As the minutes inched toward midnight, the crucifixion and Jesus’ last breath at the forefront of our collective mind, we settled into silence as the sanctuary lights slowly dimmed and all disappeared into darkness. We filed out of the pews, through the front doors, and began a slow, rhythmic journey around the entire building. We circled three full times, recalling the three days Jesus spent in the tomb. After the third rotation, we gathered on the front steps, energy humming. Then, with a pageantry like precision, at exactly midnight, the front doors of the church burst open, and we entered a brilliantly lit sanctuary—golden walls and vibrant colors reverberating as bells rang and rich incense greeted the news that Jesus, he is alive.

Naturally, I’ve thought about that experience a lot over the past two weeks. Especially as held in contrast to our somewhat lackluster quarantined Easter celebrations. What I couldn’t stop thinking about was that long, silent trip around the church building. As we had revolved, I counted—once, twice, three times—'til we got to return to the warmth, and the symbol had served out its purpose. The waiting was finished because we knew the end.

I’ve never marked the passing of time by the rise and fall of the sun so much as I have in this quarantine. I normally mark my life in events, counting days around big happenings and pivotal moments. But, as may sound familiar, there really are none of those anymore. And it’s been hard. This time of waiting with no end promised, has made it hard to want things, to get out of bed facing sameness. I’ve realized how much I rely on anticipation to feel motivated and fulfilled.

My inner narrative response to this realization has also been consistent, my first thoughts sounding like, “Well, Tessa, this is revealing that you are bad at living in the present and just run from pain by looking forward.” Even my prayers have been hijacked by Eeyore-sounding moans, “God, I guess you want me to stop relying on the future…Thanks for the quarantine…” The old version of “You had it coming.” (How does grace slip so easily out the window?)

But, Jordan’s sermon a few weeks ago about Jesus entering our sorrow and our lament, started my wheels turning and my heart opening. He wants to be with me in sorrow--righteous, deserved, whatever--these categories are useless. He wants to be in them all. What if I could invite Jesus into my sorrow of not having anything to look forward to? Rather than immediately conclude that looking ahead is somehow a character deficit, what happens when I let God tell me how he observes this quality? 

This got me thinking about the disciples after Jesus died—they didn’t know the end. It was not a “three tidy laps around a church” experience. For all they knew, it was already over. A truly relatable experience now that our worlds are stuck in limbo. It’s interesting how Jesus meets them after the resurrection with compassion, saying that this taste of his absence was laying the groundwork for what was to come. He brings grace into their despair and gently turns their chins to regard the future: the coming of the Spirit, unity with God, known love, overcoming the world, his return. Jesus establishes his people to live in the present with eyes fixed on the future. The realest realities are now unseen. The hope of glory. 

Recalling this about my own identity as a follower of Jesus has been reorienting my understanding of my future focused tendencies. I’m naturally good at hoping for the future--what a gift! Now, as my eyes open into a seemingly mundane day, and my brain naturally searches for something to anticipate, I praise God that he has created me with the ability to hope. And that, during this time, I get to practice hoping in the assured promises of his goodness--actually, physically, motivated by Jesus’ resurrection. Because he lives, I can literally give myself to the monotony of this day. 

May we learn a new way of hope, and lean into Christ’s gentleness this Eastertide. 

- Tessa (Robertson) Thompson

Disorientation & Holy Saturday

Advent Denver

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Scripture says very little about this day, other than it was the Sabbath, but if you use your imagination a bit, you can sense the Disciples’ disorientation. The Messiah they had followed, the God-man who had healed the sick and raised the dead, had been defeated by death. They had expected him to win, to be a great, victorious king. I imagine them dazedly wandering back to their homes to observe the Sabbath, entirely uncertain what to do next. Scripture speaks of their fear, how they locked themselves in for fear of what the religious leaders might do to them. Such intense grief, confusion, and fear are a disorienting cocktail. Who would they go to with their questions, with their grief, with their fear and confusion? Jesus was dead. They were left so very alone.

C.S. Lewis wrote his book, A Grief Observed, during his own season of disorientation. His wife had died, and he was left with deep grief, confusion, and anger. In his expression of pain, he was left disoriented by God’s silence, by His absence.

Meanwhile, where is God? This is one of the most disquieting symptoms. When you are happy, so happy that you have no sense of needing Him, so happy that you are tempted to feel His claims upon you as an interruption, if you remember yourself and turn to Him with gratitude and praise, you will be—or so it feels—welcomed with open arms. But go to Him when your need is desperate, when all other help is vain, and what do you find? A door slammed in your face, and a sound of bolting and double bolting on the inside. After that, silence. 

I don’t know about you, but I feel a bit disoriented today. I watch the news and hear about the mounting sickness and death tolls—some of them very close to our Advent family. I watch friends and family lose jobs and income, have to make hard choices to lay off beloved employees, or even lose their businesses. I struggle to ward off anxiety and depression, watching friends do the same, with more or less success. I watch all of this, disoriented, and cry out with the Psalmist, “How long, O LORD?” Pain and loss, fear and grief are utterly disorienting. They shake the ground we stand on—especially in these Holy Saturdays when we have not yet seen, might not even be able to imagine God’s victory over death and suffering.

So what do we do in these disorienting Holy Saturdays? What do we do with our confusion, our grief, our suffering? What do we do when God’s victory, or God Himself, might seem far away, or even uncaring? We join the lament of God’s people across time. In his article on Psalm 39, “Voice as Counter to Violence,” Walter Brueggemann compares the Psalmist to a distressed child. The child is angry at its mother, and yet, finds it has no one else to go to for comfort, but its mother, so the child crawls into his mother’s arms while still beating her chest in anger. In the Psalms we join the people of God expressing honestly their pain, anger, fear, confusion, and feelings of God’s absence or abandon in the midst of all these. And yet, the honest communication is always directed toward God. The psalmists don’t turn away and cease conversation with God. Instead, they press in further, raising their voices with greater earnestness and honesty, holding nothing back.

Some of you might find yourselves in a place of deep trust and sweet connection with God in this season of disorientation. But for those of you who find yourselves wrestling with God in the midst of your disorientation and pain, I want you to hear that your expression of lament displays no less faith. Lament is bold faith. It is faith like that of the little child-Psalmist. Faith that tenaciously approaches our Father, even with our anger, our confusion, and our pain. This bold faith holds firmly to the belief that our Father is still the one to go to with our questions, our doubt, our fears, and our sorrow—even when we find ourselves angry at Him or confused at His apparent lack of action or presence.

In his book, Psalms: The Prayer Book of the Bible, Dietrich Bonhoeffer states:

[The lament psalms] do not deny [suffering] or try to deceive us about it with pious words. They allow it to stand as a severe attack on the faith…There is in the Psalms no quick and easy resignation to suffering. There is always struggle, anxiety, doubt. God’s righteousness which allows the pious to be met by misfortune but the godless to escape free, even God’s good and gracious will, is undermined…. His behavior is too difficult to grasp. But even in the deepest hopelessness, God alone remains the one addressed. Neither is help expected from men, nor does the distressed one in self-pity lose sight of the origin and the goal of all distress, namely God. He sets out to do battle against God for God. The wrathful God is confronted countless times with his promise, his previous blessings, the honor of his name among men.

 Michael Card says something similar in his book, A Sacred Lament:

[Prayers of lament] represent the last refusal to let go of the God who may seem to be absent or worse—uncaring. If this is true, then lament expresses one of the most intimate moments of faith—not a denial of it. It is supreme honesty before a God whom my faith tells me I can trust. He encourages me to bring everything as an act of worship, my disappointment, frustration, and even my hate.

 So I urge you, friends, in this time of waiting, in this time of fear or pain, in this disorienting Holy Saturday, raise your honest prayers to our Father. Whether you find yourselves at peace or in confusion, in resting trust or wrestling trust—crawl into your Father’s arms and trust Him with your honest speech. Lay before Him the contents of your heart. And when He might feel silent or distant, keep bringing your speech before Him, keep begging Him for the dawn to rise on Easter day. For He, alone, is the one we can go to. He alone brings Easter victory.

 In closing, I’ll share with you something I wrote on Holy Saturday last year—my own lament as we watched the sudden decline of our dear pastor and friend, Rob Paris. The words seem pertinent this Holy Saturday as well.

All I can do is rage against death (and I’ll rage!), against a God-dead, death-winning Saturday. I need Him to defeat. I need Him to win. I need Him to rise. I need Him to put death in its place.

Even with Easter Sunday, it feels a bit like we still live in Holy Saturday. Torn between the realities of both [Good Friday and Easter Sunday]. God has won, yet, death still wins—not the ultimate victory, but it takes its deep, vicious bite. Can we survive this pain? Can we walk again? Will we pretend we are competent, like we can walk without a limp, like we can provide the healing, the health only Christ brings? 

Or will we walk with a limp into Easter Sunday, desperate 

     for the One who won, 

     for the One who is near, 

     for the One who can heal?

God be with us in this dark Saturday! Show us a glimmer—or a sunburst—of your Easter victory in the despair of our here-and-now.

God’s Peace,

Pastor Stacey Cooper