Advent is a time of waiting, expectant waiting. I, and some of you, had the opportunity to spend time with waiting families last week. My husband Jon and I spent one night at Hope for the Journey Home, a wonderful local ministry providing housing and support for families who are temporarily homeless. In their waiting, they quickly form a new community with their housemates, caring for each other's children, offering supportive stories of job searches, and become family for one another, at least for this stretch of life's journey.
Whenever I leave after a shelter shift, the faces and stories of the residents stay with me. I wonder when their hope for a home will be realized, I ache for teenagers sharing a room with their family weekend after weekend, I imagine the middle-of-the-night worries of parents or the situation of children who can not invite a friend over to play. Spending time there during Advent revealed the story of another family in a new light. Mary and Joseph, having likely endured scorn, confusion, uncertainty, or an exhausting journey, are expectantly waiting for the birth of not only a baby, but the Messiah. Overwhelmed, surely. And then there is no room. Yet we don't read of Mary asking, "Why, God?" or Joseph quipping, "Seriously?" Instead, we are given their story of hope and of home. That night, home was not a cozy, Christmas tree-lit house, but something closer to a cave with a feeding trough cradle. Yet, perhaps alongside newly formed community, it was sufficient for Mary, for Joseph, for Jesus. Room enough.
This Advent, one of the women's groups is reading Not a Silent Night: Mary Looks Back to Bethlehem. Each of us marvels in some way at Mary's faithfulness, trust, patience, fortitude, joy, heartache, or some blend of all of these. As I reflect on Mary's experiences of waiting, and of their Christmas 'home', and then spend just one night in the presence of families living in limbo, I find room. Room to be more patient in crowded shops or with ever-changing family plans, room for time in God's word, room for altered Christmas expectations, room for change in my attitude, my priorities, my heart.
A friend's facebook post shared a Frederick Buechner reflection on home. He recalled preacher George Buttrick responding to the common December question, "Are you going home for Christmas?" "His answer was that home, finally, is the manger in Bethlehem, the place where at midnight even the oxen kneel. Home is where Christ is." Buechner writes, "I believe that Buttrick was right and that the home we long for and belong to is finally where Christ is. I believe that home is Christ's kingdom, which exists both within us and among us as we wend our prodigal ways through the world in search of it." The name for our local shelter is suddenly even richer with meaning. Hope for the Journey Home. I wish for you that Advent hope as you journey home for Christmas.
A friend's facebook post shared a Frederick Buechner reflection on home. He recalled preacher George Buttrick responding to the common December question, "Are you going home for Christmas?" "His answer was that home, finally, is the manger in Bethlehem, the place where at midnight even the oxen kneel. Home is where Christ is." Buechner writes, "I believe that Buttrick was right and that the home we long for and belong to is finally where Christ is. I believe that home is Christ's kingdom, which exists both within us and among us as we wend our prodigal ways through the world in search of it." The name for our local shelter is suddenly even richer with meaning. Hope for the Journey Home. I wish for you that Advent hope as you journey home for Christmas.
