Grassroots Dreams (Soweto Gospel Choir)

"My eyes will see the beautiful gates
and the streets of gold
of the City of Salvation"

So while we tend to tiptoe around it, with phrases like the "drawing-together of creation" and the "reconciliation of all things," Advent is primarily about apocalypse, plain and simple. Jesus returns, and everything changes. 

This gets tricky for me, because growing up in my church context, apocalyptic visions in the Bible were a weird joke. Seriously, who actually believed in that stuff?

There was just a little teeny bit of privilege in my former attitude, I know. But I was raised understanding apocalyptic literature to be childish rage-dreams, mediated through booming voices on U.S. TV and radio. 

Little did I know that the original authors of these strange, vivid stories of God's triumph were almost always outside of the power system, voiceless to the "mainstream" culture. God's downtrodden, catastrophe-worn people sought a vision to dream them forward, and the revelatory prophecies and promises of both testaments offered meaning, endurance, and hope. 

These seemingly triumphant, even triumphalist, visions were actually words from the depths. 

"My eyes will see the beautiful gates 
and the streets of gold..."

From this angle, Advent isn't just a nice bow on the story of God and Creation. It definitely isn't just sort of demurely hoping everyone can be as happy (or privileged) as I am "someday," or lighting a candle and feeling vaguely sad for the "less fortunate," during the holidays. All that is all surface-level stuff -- but Advent surges from the depths. It lives in broken cracks in the sidewalk, in the dust of the street, in the shame and fear in our own hearts. Advent dwells in the deep, and this is where its most soul-stirring dreams are born.

Soweto Gospel Choir - "Jerusalem" (Live) - Voices from Heaven album version

This song has been on our Advent playlist since before the A.M.P. was born, but there never seemed like the right opening for it. But with Nelson Mandela's death yesterday, and the world looking at both his role in the anti-apartheid movement and his legacy for the future, a South African choir sings, sandwiched between the apartheid that was and the uncertainty of what will be:

"Jerusalem... my wishes and hopes are for you."

This is a dream worth dreaming: that "streets of gold" could spring up between these very cracks in the pavement. This is grassroots dreaming: standing in the Now, the In-Between, and letting our songs reflect our deepest hopes while also casting our gaze forward. Shining onward.

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God [...]

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.” 

- Rev 21: 1-5a, selected

May you find your Advent dreaming going deeper in these lengthening nights, and may your songs, your words, and your hands, reflect the love of God for all creation, today and always.

                                                            -- Anna

Advent Gets Angry (Nina Simone)

image courtesy Asif Akbar

"And now we got a revolution,
'Cause I see the face of things to come..."

If there was a list of socially unacceptable feelings during "the Holidays" (read: Advent), it would certainly include Grief, Depression and Loneliness, but topping the list would be Anger. Anger, in fact, would probably not even get included on the list because it's so obviously not acceptable. Who gets angry over the holidays? Greedy, self-centered, messed-up people, probably.

BUT. Turns out that sandwiching some of our favorite Advent texts are some very angry words: Just verses before the traditional "a shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse" (Is 11:1), God actually goes on and on about how "in a very little while... my anger will be directed to [the oppressors'] destruction" (Is 10:25).

Truth is, there's a lot of anger bound up in the mysterious promises of God for a creation made-new... which often gets politely ignored during Advent. Perhaps it's because we tend to associate giving God's anger a voice with 'End-Times' obsessed Christians who gleefully crow about the destruction of the ungodly and God's judgement on the unrighteous. Or perhaps it's because anger feels like more of a "Lent thing."

At the core, however, we are ashamed and afraid of human anger and outrage. And because we hide from our own, often-harmful, anger, we also either ignore God's anger or fear it, mistaking it for our own, dis-ordered emotions.

Enter today's submission for Advent music, which is neither joyful nor bright, even though it's got a nice and easy beat. This song is angry. Frustrated. Pissed. off: 

"The only way that we can stand, in fact,
Is when you get your foot from off our backs."

And I love it.

Nina Simone - "Revolution" - Live (Lyrics HERE)

"I'm here to tell you about destruction
Of all the evil that will have to end"

What is more Advent-prophetic than that? Nina goes on to say "I know they'll say I'm preachin' hate..." but clarifies that it is precisely because of the struggle and pain of her current situation that she MUST speak as she does. 

Likewise with us. During Advent, we tend to tune our anger to the tone of "sadness" or "lament" (if we're willing to go there at all) but Anger is Advent in bold letters -- it's Advent written in our sweat and blood. Anger is the urgency that clamors for action, for the sweeping arrival of Christ that Advent invites. Which means that Advent can sometimes get impatient. It can even occasionally get really pissed off.

Why? Because of the Trayvon Martin verdict. Because of the destruction in the Philippines and the suffering and death in the Central African Republic. Because of the sexual violence statistics and the gun violence statistics and the repeal of parts of the Voting Rights Laws. Because this list could go on and on and on.

But we don't dare go to feelings of anger an impatience, because Advent is about patient waiting, right? And yes, for a society raised on instant-gratification, learning patience is good. But patience ceases to be a virtue when it hobbles us to the urgency of the present moment, to the voices of suffering crying out among us (or within us) right now. Patience ceases to be a virtue when it merely clogs our anger in our gut, so that it comes out around the edges, directed dangerously toward the wrong targets (like each other).

What we need around here is to experience our anger TRANSFORMED. To feel our outrage suddenly grace-touched, God-unbound... Love-branded. To finally know our anger as God knows anger: as an outpouring of the deepest love and the most profound honesty. To know anger that seeks relationship, not severs it. Anger that seeks wholeness, not shatters it. Anger that motivates and creates and seeks redemption. Anger which is fuel for playfulness and possibility. We need to let our anger be transformed into light. To Shine. On.

"It's gonna' be alright. 
Everything's gonna' be alright..."

Can we even dare think of anger in these terms during Advent? Do we dare embrace a revolution in Christ that would transform our very emotions? A revolution like that might reveal Christ's own moments of anger not as anomalies or "'fully human' moments" but as a natural Divine response to gross injustice. A revolution like that might, in fact, be able to tie together the threads of God's anger over injustice in Isaiah 10 with God' promise of peace and harmony in Isaiah 11, might be able to tie our real life emotions of anger and grief to the more 'socially acceptable' emotions of patience and longing this Advent season...

A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear; but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins. The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea. 

 - Isaiah 11: 1-9

May it be so.

May you experience your anger, your pain, your loss more fully this Advent -- not so that you can wield them on others, but so that you may face the realities of this world and take actions rooted in love and not fear.

                                                                         -- Anna

How We Tell the End (The Softlightes)

Welcome to the end of the world. Turns out, everything looks basically the same.

The question isn't really whether the Mayan calendar got it right or wrong, it's what imagining our own endings does for us and in us. In our Christian tradition, the dramatic words of John's Revelation or the enigmatic predictions of Christ and the writers of the epistles can either fascinate us... or make us squirm, inspire us... or invite dread. 

What are the stories we tell about our endings, and our rebirths? Are they stories that affirm basic goodness, or relish in fallenness? Are they stories that believe in finality, or renewal? Often, our imaginations about the end of the world (or our acceptance of the imaginations of others) tell us more about ourselves than they do about factual future realities. 

Maybe that's why this song by the SoftLightes works for me: it balances the fear of ending ("there's a fire burning and demanding") and the desire for transformation ("but if I change, Love, who will I be, Love?") with a sense that it's worth just enjoying the moment, the present, this Christmas - whether its our last or not. 


The Last Christmas On Earth from SoftLightes on Myspace.


I love it that there's a suggestion at the end that even as we dance like it's our last Christmas this time, we'll keep doing that every year "as the times chance and my hair turns gray..." So each year we'll practice the present like our lives depend on it. We'll dwell deeply into the moments and relish the experiences of silliness and delight, tenderness and revelry, trusting that as we do, we make one of the deepest theological statements there is: that the Love that Came Down at Christmas didn't come to destroy but to create, not to punish but to bring hope. That same Love promised to come again with justice and peace, gathering all in to Godself.

"Nothing accursed will be found there anymore. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever."       - Rev. 22: 3-5

Whether it's the Mayan calendar or the tales of endings and new beginning written in our own tradition, what matters most isn't being right or wrong, accurate or mistaken: it's how the story we're telling ourselves makes our present days worthwhile, beautiful, profound, and holy... and how we are called to make it peaceful and meaningful for all people and all creation as we are able.

In these final days of Advent, may the story you tell yourself out of your traditions be one filled with grace and hope, a word of peace for all creation that imbues your present with meaning and purpose, delight and dancing.

                                                - Anna

Tues Dec. 13 - Riffing on Love (feat. Over the Rhine)

In this third week of Advent we are moving into a time of real anticipation: the Christmas and Advent carols are starting to feel more "right," the tinsel is glittering, and there's a feeling that the time is drawing near: we are truly making ready for the wonder and peace of Christ's birth to enter our lives once more.  This week, the Advent Music Project explores: How do we make ready?  What do we do (or not) to prepare for the Coming Light?

The Trumpet Child is one of my favorite Advent songs.  The image of a young Jesus calling in the Reign of God with a jazz solo is an image that's hard to top, of course:

The trumpet child will riff on love

Thelonious notes from up above

He'll improvise a kingdom come...
                                      -- Over the Rhine

Nonetheless, the genius of this song's image is that it plays with the wonderful alchemy that is great jazz music: improvisational jazz is a musical style that is deceptively spontaneous and chaotic.  It's true, the exact flow of notes are created on the spot, but always in a framework: the other musicians have their parts, know the cues to switch keys or let someone else lead, and know the structure to the song.  The best improv musicians are the ones who know how to riff on a theme or a format - not just go off on their own.  So in the end, improv is actually about mutuality, cooperation, and listening as much as it is about raw talent and creativity.

The Trumpet Child by Over the Rhine (lyrics HERE)

Improv is a great metaphor for God's power and intentions in the world: God is both sovereign and mutual, creative and cooperative.  God's promises are the solid framework, God's actions switch the keys, but within that structure both we and God and the forces of the natural world are "improv-ing" the present together.  The good news is that our reality is neither utter chaos nor set in stone: there's room for transformation, surprise, and even delight.  True, creativity and freedom can be messy (all good artwork usually is) and sometimes the notes grow discordant, but in the end, God's promises accompany us, the stories of God help us imagine new notes, and the Holy Spirit constantly guides us.


"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
                                         - Jeremiah 29:11


Maybe one way to anticipate and make ready for what God is revealing among us is to embrace our own creative and improvisational abilities.  As someone was saying to me today: sometimes life give you exactly what you'd never want, but the trick is to figure out how to change the rules, transform the game, and make what seemed to give no life flourish.  It's not easy - this is no cute "lemonade from lemons" proposition - but if God is transforming this world, may we not have faith that our own daily riffs and improvisations are a necessary part of the piece?

May we embrace our creativity and openness; our mutuality and listening; our dreams and curiosity in these days, preparing our hearts for the Advent of Christ - 'riffing on love' along with God and all of Creation.

                                    - Anna

Sun Dec. 12 - Trusting the Future (The Davis Sisters)

"Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life...[and] the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month.  And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.  No longer will there be any curse.  ... There will be no more night.  They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will give them light..."
          - Revelation 22: 1-5

Let's talk about the Second Coming for a minute.  (Stay with me!)  As a progressive Christian, I have to admit that even writing these words makes me a little squeamish: there's WAY too much cultural baggage on this train.  Yet abandoning any talk of God's ultimate promises because of those Christians who revel in gleeful violence and self-congratulation may actually be the bigger sin.  So call it what you want: Christ's Return, the Final In-Gathering, Love-Made-Manifest-in-All-Creation... I'm going to take my faith and the pain of the world seriously enough to say that the power of God's love is in its tenacity: Love has ultimate hold of this world, and will not abandon or let us go.  

Many of the Advent songs in our first week seem to hit a similar note: "we need you God because things are pretty messed up around here!" and maybe this feels too much like Lent. But while Advent isn't Lent, Advent isn't a big party, either. Advent lives in a very strange and wonderful in-between place: in-between hope and somber waiting, in-between already and not-quite-yet, in-between eager anticipation and humble thoughtfulness.  

We'll Understand it Better acknowledges that we actually "live" Advent every day of our lives.  In the trials of daily life and our unknowing about the future we grow uncomfortable, so we try to create explanations, tactics, rules, boundaries.  We also try to take ecstatic prophetic visions like Daniel and Revelation and turn them into road maps and recipes.  But maybe what we need to survive in an Advent world is less absolutist theology and more trust in God's intentions: In Advent we practice trusting the future instead of dissecting it.

"We'll Understand it Better By and By sung by The Davis Sisters -- full lyrics to traditional song HERE

Maybe the most revolutionary thing we can say as progressive Christians about God's final promises for the world is that WE DON'T KNOW what it will look like; but we do know what it will feel like.  It will feel like the overshadowing of history by Love: scary and real and gorgeous (and deeply humility-inducing) - and ultimately... healing and grace-filled.  The wait for this time is an ache of need and a humble remembrance of our own brokenness.  The wait for this time is also full of humor and grace, love and peace-filled waiting because we trust the future, and live as though God's promises are already being revealed among us.

May we practice our trust in God's future, remembering that God's love in Christ is not a cold stone of violence but amazing song of wholeness.  And one day it will reveal the honesty and glory of all Creation.  Amen and amen.

                                   - Anna