“Settle yourself in solitude, and you will come upon Him in yourself.”
- Teresa of Avila

There is something so beautiful about the winter months. When the temperatures drop, and everything outside seems to slow down or stop completely, another side of nature comes out. Have you ever been outside in the early morning or late at night, in the middle of winter? What do you hear? Usually nothing. What do you smell? Again, usually nothing. There seems to be this wonderful absence of what we can usually find outside. Soon enough, birds will be back to singing and the smell of every flower imaginable will be in the air, but not yet. God lovingly leads us through our own spiritual seasons, even winter.

For me, the discipline of solitude is magnified during the winter months. When I finally notice that nature quiets down and withdraws from the cold, I want to follow suit. I feel myself wanting to speak less and listen more. I yearn to settle myself.

There is a winter in all of our lives,
a chill and darkness that makes us yearn
for days that have gone
or put our hope in days yet to be.
Father God, you created seasons for a purpose.
Spring is full of expectation-
buds breaking,
frosts abating and an awakening
of creation before the first days of summer.
Now the sun gives warmth
and comfort to our lives,
reviving aching joints,
bringing colour, new life
and crops to fruiting.
Autumn gives nature space
to lean back, relax and enjoy the fruits of its labour-
mellow colours in sky and landscape
as the earth prepares to rest.
Then winter, cold and bare as nature takes stock,
rests, unwinds, sleeps until the time is right-
an endless cycle
and yet a perfect model.
We need a winter in our lives-
a time of rest, a time to stand still,
a time to reacquaint ourselves
with the faith in which we live.
It is only then that we can draw strength
from the one in whom we are rooted.
Take time to grow and rise through the darkness,
into the warm glow of your springtime,
to blossom and flourish,
bring colour and vitality into this world
your garden.
Thank you Father
for the seasons of our lives

- “A Winter Prayer” from faithandworship.com

As the days grow colder, let us follow suit with God’s creation and settle ourselves.

I saw this wino, he was eating grapes. I was like, “Dude, you have to wait.” -Mitch Hedburg

There, Mitch Hedburg has officially made it into ImagoWeekly. Nothing like having a dead comedian write for a church newsletter!

But he’s right. I’m learning, slowly and painfully, that I just have to wait, even though it usually sucks. Patience is not a virtue that comes easily to me, but patience is what I have to practice right now in more ways than I’d like. I feel trapped in a fairly mind-numbing entry-level job that pays the bills, but only barely, and it’s probably going to be a while before I can find or create a better opportunity. In the meantime…I have to be patient. Elise and I really want kids, and we are in the process of adopting. But right now…you guessed it…we just have to wait. We don’t know how long.

I’m not sure which part I resent more—the waiting itself, or the indefinite-ness of it. I don’t know how long I will have to stay at my current job. I don’t know if Elise and I will be parents by Christmas or not. If I knew how long it would take, I could adjust my expectations, and it would be a lot easier to be patient. But, I don’t have that luxury.

This is the part where I feel like I should resolve the tension and say something about how “waiting is hard, but God has been showing me great things in this tough time, and I’m peaceful with it for now.” The problem is, He hasn’t, and I’m not. I am thoroughly un-peaceful with this. Let me be clear–I don’t think God has turned his back on me or anything; I actually believe He has a good plan in all this. It doesn’t mean I like waiting it out, though. I would very much like to vote for a different plan. Unfortunately, He’s not taking a poll.

So, I’m left with practicing patience for the time being, even if it is against my will. Maybe you are too, in which case, I’m sorry. You’re not the only one. I think it helps to know that, sometimes.

I don’t know how stay-at-home moms used to manage before the internet was part of our daily lives. I am a stay-at-home mother of three. Since all the forms of social media came into being, I have never felt disconnected from society. Whether it’s reading something inspirational on a blog or just catching up with an old friend via email, I may be home alone, but I’m never truly isolated.

You can poke fun–but I love Facebook. I love reading people’s status updates, posting pictures for the grandparents, and creeping on my “friends you may know” scroll. Have you checked out Pinterest yet? You should. It’s awesome.

Here’s the rub though….

When I’m having a hard day, and I read about other people’s good fortunes or perfect children, there is something that goes on in my heart. It’s not pretty. How about the people who post things I vehemently disagree with? On a bad day, my tendency is to write people off because they are wrong, and I am right. And while I adore Pinterest, the only purpose it serves on a down day is to remind me of all the cool art projects I’m not doing with my kids.

So, how do you balance all that? I desire to be connected to people, and yet, sometimes I’m amazed at my ability to dehumanize others. I love reading blogs about parenting; yet, I push my kids away so I can finish a post about spending more time with your kids!

I have no quick solutions to these conundrums. Turning off my computer forever isn’t reasonable. But more and more, I do find paying attention to the Holy Spirit and those subtle shifts in my heart is reasonable. In my core, I know the internet is no substitute for the life-giving relationship I have with Jesus. It is also no substitute for the authentic relationships I have with people.

What if we spent less time checking our phones for the next email and gave that attention back to the One who is with us, always? Would our faith look different?

In November of 2007, I went on my first trip to the Saharawi refugee camps in Algeria. My friend, Jess, teaches at the English school there for three to six months at a time. Before our team arrived, Jess had given a few of her advanced students the assignment of preparing a presentation about Saharawi culture for us. One student, Ghalia, gave her presentation. When she was done, she turned to look at Jess and said with tears in her eyes, “I just want to thank Jess for coming here. She came, and she teaches us English; she wears the mulfa and she suffers with us.”

Those words, “she suffers with us,” have stuck with me ever since that trip. I think it’s a beautiful picture of who we’re called to be as followers of Christ. My tendency is to want to come in and help people solve their problems and give them the right answers. But maybe that’s not always the most appropriate response. Sometimes we might need to simply suffer with people.

This idea is part of what makes the story of Jesus so powerful. God came to live with us. He didn’t just tell us from afar how to live righteously and act differently. He came and lived a fully human life and experienced the difficulties that are a part of that. Then, He died one of the most horrific deaths a human could experience. He suffered on the cross in the ultimate act of love. Because real love will require real suffering.

Jess could choose to stay in the States and live a comfortable American life. However, she has chosen to go and live among refugees in their mud huts and tents – and they notice it. The kingdom of the world says you need strength and power over people to advance your cause. But the Kingdom of God is totally upside down. It calls us to love people to the point where we’re willing to suffer alongside them.

The experience in the classroom that day is, for me, a picture of what it looks like when someone lives as Jesus taught his disciples in Luke 9, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.”

On Thursday there will be exactly 9 hours, 15 minutes and 6 seconds of sunlight. The sun will rise tomorrow morning at 7:19am and set at 4:34pm. This means that many of us will walk into work before the sun rises and not leave until after it sets. Cue the winter blues.
It’s a bit ironic that Advent falls, for those of us living in the Northern Hemisphere, during the darkest part of the year. We celebrate this season with the lighting of candles, and the erecting of Christmas trees and lights comes amidst darkness – and with it cold. Maybe it’s best. Maybe there’s something to be gleaned from Scriptures like this one:

In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. [John 1:4-5]

However, in the liturgical history of the church, a response to the juxtaposition of Advent light and physical darkness has emerged. It’s called either “The Longest Night Service”, or a “Blue Christmas Service”. The intent of the service is to acknowledge that even though it’s a season of light and merriment, for some it’s a dark season.

In our own body, there are some who will mark this Christmas season as the first without a cherished family member, while others will mourn the loss of an important relationship. There are some in our community whose lives are unsettled, and their future is uncertain. Others are starting their annual battle with the depression that comes from the seemingly ubiquitous grayness that settles over Central Illinois in the winter.

In The Longest Night Service, we acknowledge and enter into their suffering. And for those of us whom life seems to be shining on us, we stand beside our brothers and sisters as a symbol of our solidarity with them in their darkness.

This is the second year that we offer The Longest Night Liturgy. It’s a somber assembly, but important and meaningful. We will begin the service in darkness and move towards light, naming our hopes and desires to God. We invite you to come and stand with those who suffer. And if you have a friend who you think might benefit – no matter what church they go to or whether they go to church regularly at all – bring them.

This year our Longest Night Service is on Thursday at 7:00 PM in the Sanctuary and will be followed with light refreshments. Please enter quietly.

Hey son!

Merry Christmas 2041!
I’m looking forward to seeing you and your family! The picture that you sent the other day of your boys reminds me of you when you were 10-years-old! I can’t tell you how many times your mother and I say to each other, “Remember when the boys were 10 and how exciting Christmastime was?” (I think every time we say that she gets tears in her eyes, fondly remembering your childhood.)

Speaking of mom, she told me that you called her yesterday, and you were asking about participation in the family gift exchange. As you know, we started the exchange when you and your three brothers decided to follow in your parents’ footsteps and have a whole bunch of children. We’re already up to 10 grandkids, with one more on the way, and it appears that all three of your brothers intend to have more!

I know things are tough this year for you-going back to school, starting a new job and moving. That’s a lot in a year, and I know there’s not a lot of extra. And really, mom and I feel like the best present is that you’re choosing to bring your family back home this Christmas! (In fact, to make it a little easier, I’ve included a little money to cover your gas.)

Here’s what I want you to hear: please do not buy gifts this year. It would make us sad to know that you’re buying gifts you can’t really afford. We’d rather you save the money and get out of debt. Your presence with us here is all we want.

But, at the same time, I know that your brothers still want to buy gifts for you and your family this year, and I’ve encouraged them to do so anyway.

I know that gift giving is a lot easier than gift getting. When we give gifts, it allows us to feel good about ourselves – to pat ourselves on the back. Receiving is harder, though. It requires a certain amount of humility to not reciprocate. I was thinking about the disciples (when Jesus washed their feet), and I was wondering how hard that must have been to receive from Jesus.

I’ve been a pastor for a long time now, and I’ve always been in the position of receiving a lot more than I give. And I’ll tell you son, it’s humbling. I wish I could give so much more to the people I love and admire. However, over the years gift receiving has become a discipline of humility for me. I’ve had to learn how to humbly say, “thank you,” without scheming ways to “get even”.

Anyway, sorry for the preaching, but it’s hard for an old pastor not to preach! We all love you and can’t wait to see you! We look forward to blessing your family this year.

See you in a couple weeks, son!
Love, Dad

This morning I ate too much at One World. I didn’t need the second half of the bagel, but I ignored the signals my body was sending and continued on. And at dinner last night, I should have stopped sooner, but my long time membership in the “clean plate club” pushed me to keep eating. The truth is that living in 2011 in middle class America, I overeat all the time.

In America today, we have an unhealthy relationship with food. We eat too much and portion sizes continue to grow. We eat food that should only be eaten on special occasions as if our lives depend on it. Take bacon for example. What used to be eaten as a special treat, is now eaten by many on a daily basis. In short, we treat life as if it is a continual feast.

But in the Biblical context, where God instructs his people to dedicate themselves to fasting – sometimes for several days – it was the exception, rather than the norm. Feasts were exclamation marks in a simple, poor, agrarian community – opportunities to gather and celebrate. As I contemplate what it means to feast before God, two thoughts and practices have been emerging in my life.

Increasingly, I’m choosing simplicity. Day in and day out, I don’t need “special” things, and in fact, if anything is to remain special to me, it will be because I approach it in a reserved manner. I want bacon to be a special treat, but when I do choose to have it, I want the real stuff! (In other words, no turkey bacon!) When I choose to eat simply, feasts really do become exceptional seasons of celebration.

I’m also avoiding the temptation to improperly elevate food. I like food a lot. If you know me at all, you know that I love to garden, to cook and to try new things. So, my temptation at the holidays is to think of the food as the center of celebration. However, as I get older, I’m starting to understand that food is only the vehicle. The real heart of the feast is the people with whom I sit around the table. One of my favorite song lyrics says it this way: “Turns out not where but who you’re with that really matters.” Of course, when great food is combined with great company, it’s truly the exception. If forced to choose though, I’ll choose good company.

Of course, there’s a good chance that I’ll sabotage myself and throw out these ideas for simply gorging and miss what it means to feast in a way that’s honoring to God. But, this is what I’m after – to truly enter into this season of feasting in a way that brings honor to God.

In one of my favorite plot lines from the sitcom Seinfeld, the forever-scheming George Costanza decides to save a couple bucks on Christmas gift-giving. Instead of buying actual gifts, George made up a fake charity and created cards saying, “To celebrate the holiday season, a donation has been made in your name to ‘The Human Fund’.” At the bottom of the card was the made-up slogan, “Money for the People”.

The first time I heard about the ideas behind Advent Conspiracy, I thought it sounded a lot like George’s “Human Fund”. It sounded like an opportunity for self-righteous Christians to wear their righteousness on their sleeve, standing before their family and friends, proclaiming themselves better than everyone else. Instead of spending money on themselves, they would give it to the poor, and in our case, through an organization called Living Water.

However, as we’ve engaged with the ideas of Advent Conspiracy over the last couple of years, I don’t think anyone at Imago Dei has used it as an occasion to wag their fingers at their families, friends, or co-workers. Instead, it’s introduced a healthy tension that many of us have wrestled with as we think about what it means to be followers of Jesus. We live in a culture that seems increasingly bent on reducing the Advent season to eating and shopping. And, along the way, I’ve heard amazing stories of what it looks like when people decide to give of themselves, rather than give more stuff that will only be thrown away in weeks or months.

The tensions have caused us to think hard about what it means to spend money on gifts. They’ve caused us as a church to think about the temptations of consumption and greed. Those tensions have sparked a re-thinking of what it means to substitute the giving of stuff with the giving of ourselves. In short, those tensions have challenged all of us to wrestle with what it means to live as a Christian in our fallen world. And as much as we naturally resist tension, it’s only under tension that we are forced to stretch and grow.

Over the next couple of weeks, I’ve hijacked this space to talk about tensions. We’ll explore the tension between feasting and fasting, giving and receiving, and light and darkness. In each case I hope that as you journey through the Advent season, you pause and allow the tensions of the call to follow Jesus to stretch you.

In the course of the last couple of years, I’ve really started to enjoy the church calendar more. I get excited about the focus and the special attention paid to things during Advent & Lent. I feel like it honors, in a more intentional way, the centrality of Easter & Christmas.

At our church, as in many others, we try to be more creative and ramp things up for the season. This year we’ll be exploring the Songs of Advent: Mary’s Song, Zechariah’s Song and the angels’ song. Then, we’re fudging a bit and making a song out of John the Baptist’s quotation of Isaiah. Each week there will be a teaching, and then we’ve asked our different worship leaders to write songs based on these particular texts. We will then sing them together as a congregation.

This week, I’ll be teaching Zechariah’s Song from Luke 1:67-79. Tuesday is my study day, and I had some very preliminary thoughts about what I was going to teach. However, on Monday afternoon David called me into his office to play a rough sketch of a song that Jeff wrote. It gave me chills, and I got tears in my eyes because it captures so beautifully Zechariah’s song. But more importantly, it gave me some specific ideas on how to approach the text. As I am studying today, I’m listening to Jeff’s song, and some of the lyrics are written on my white board.

I love this synergy. I think in many churches, music is seen as a “warm-up” to the real point of gathering: the sermon. And yet, throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, music seems to have been a much more integral part of the community’s worship. David and I talk a lot about the teaching – months ahead often – and he usually gets an earful late Tuesday morning or early afternoon. But, it leads to a solid synergy between what’s spoken by the pastor and what’s sung by the congregation. It’s one of the things I love most about our church.

So, to the Imago Dei Church Community I want to say: I’m excited about Advent; I’m excited about what we’re doing; I’m excited that I get to work with some very gifted artists, and I think you’re going to love some of the stuff that we’re doing this Advent season.

Over the past few weeks, the Imago community presented our pastors with gifts and thank you notes to show them how much we appreciate them. This week, Charlie and Dave wanted to respond with their gratitude…

Thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me that so many of you took the time to write notes and give us a generous monetary gift a couple weeks ago. Some of your words made me laugh, some brought tears to my eyes, and all of them meant a lot to me. I think all were read more than once–and a couple of them were read multiple times.

There are some days in the life of a pastor that you get to see the fruits of your labor. I have a front row seat where I get to see tangible evidence that God is changing people’s lives for the better: I get to witness the smile in their eyes as they pronounce their vows; I see heads nod and eyes fill with tears on a Sunday morning as the Spirit blows across the congregation; I see people choose to invest their time and resources to doing the work of the kingdom; I’m often the first hand someone reaches for when they need help, and when people are at their worst, they invite me to walk with them through their pain.

But, there are rainy days too, when despite my best efforts, a sermon falls flat, counseling seems ineffective, ministries fail to thrive, and in the worst moments, I see the worst parts of who I am hurting the people that God has called me to serve. But your cards and letters encouraged me deeply and reminded me that even when I have very little confidence in myself, God is using my efforts.

So, thank you for taking the time to say nicer things than I probably deserve.

The irony, at least to me, is that I’m the one who owes you all “thanks”. I’ve never been happier or felt so fulfilled and useful as I do at Imago Dei. I’ve never felt so able to just be myself – warts and all – as I do at Imago. You are a gracious, patient congregation – who demonstrate again and again – what it means to be faithful to the gospel. Thank you for your love and your sacrifice.

Grace & Peace,
Charlie Dean

I realize that many of you get up and go to work every day or stay home to raise children, but you’ll probably never get a huge pile of thank you notes for what you do. So, I deeply appreciate that so many of you took the time to send words of encouragement and thanks.

I mentioned this in one service, but I want to say it again here. I really believe that Imago is a very unique community of people. Because I spend the majority of my time at Imago, the culture of our church can start to feel very normal to me some days. But, when I talk to people in other places, I’m always reminded that this thing we sometimes refer to as the “Imago experiment” is really unique.

Thank you for allowing me to try new things and for having a sense of humor when they don’t always go right. Your appreciation for creativity is what makes it possible for myself and other musicians and artists in the church to take risks. Thank you for giving us the freedom to not do things exactly the same way week in and week out. Thank you for being people who value the journey of faith and embrace the questions and doubts that come along the way.

It is a privilege to serve with you as we figure out how to follow Jesus together. Thank you for being people who seek to be a part of the Kingdom here and now and to do God’s will “on earth as it is in Heaven”.

Grace and peace,
Dave Crow

Rob Bell was the pastor of a church in Michigan. He has written a number of books. A lot of people have called him a heretic. He is apparently dangerous to the faith because of a book he has written. I’ve read the book. It asks a lot of questions but doesn’t seem to answer any of them. I’ve learned that questions can be dangerous.

I’ve always had a lot of questions. Before I was a Christian, it seemed like a lot of people wanted to hear my questions. I was a seeker, and apparently my questions were charming. Let’s be honest, there is a lot to Christianity. It is the only subject that I can expect to go learn about in a class once each week for the rest of my life and still not have it down. Despite this, now that I’m a Christian, a lot of the questions I’m asking aren’t quite as well received. It seems like a lot of people are uncomfortable with the idea that Christianity is confusing. Perhaps, it was expected that after I picked up a “yes packet” that I was supposed to have some deeper understanding about how things work. I’ll let you in on a little secret; it didn’t happen.

I’ve wondered things like, if the Bible was given to us by God to help us learn about Him, why doesn’t it make any sense? How does prayer work when hearing voices usually means you are schizophrenic? What’s the deal with the trinity? I’ve been told these are mysteries. I think that means I’m not supposed to ask those questions anymore.

When I started coming to Imago, I got hooked up with a group that seems to be comfortable asking a lot of the same questions that I have. It has been one of the few places where the questions I have had weren’t treated with suspicion but as true searching for God. It has always been a great time where I can sit down, grab a bite to eat, and actually ask the questions on my mind without wondering what everyone else is inferring about my spirituality. I hope the same is true for everyone else sitting around the table.

The group meets at Pizza Works on the second Wednesday of the month and is called “Eats, Drinks, and Orthodoxy”. Questions are welcome.

As my husband and I continue to prepare to be adoptive parents, my sisters-in-law very generously hosted a baby shower for us this past weekend. It was a lovely afternoon at Grandma’s house with a delicious lunch and good company, and we were showered very generously with gifts to help us prepare for a new little one.

I felt so very loved and supported by our family and friends but was humbled when I reached one small pink bag. Inside, there was a simple white index card with a handwritten note to Zach and I, a small stuffed butterfly toy, and two tiny pairs of pajamas for a baby girl. The gift was from a teenage foster girl who is living with Zach’s parents and is expecting her first child soon. The pajamas and toy were items that had been given to her for her baby. When she came to be a part of our family, she brought no material possessions with her and had no money of her own. She is going to school, so she does not have an income. Due to her life’s circumstances, she is not surrounded by an extended family who is showering her with gifts. Yet, she chose her favorite baby outfit to pass along to us, rather than keeping it for herself and her own child.

As I sat with her index card note in my hands, humbled by her sacrificial generosity, I was reminded of the story of the widow’s offering told in Luke chapter 21:

As Jesus looked up, he saw the rich putting their gifts into the temple treasury. He also saw a poor widow put in two very small copper coins. “Truly I tell you,” he said, “this poor widow has put in more than all the others. All these people gave their gifts out of their wealth; but she out of her poverty put in all she had to live on.”

Our foster sister modeled this kind of generosity to me this weekend, and her gift is one that I will always treasure. So often my tendency is to lean toward selfishness. I strive to live generously but usually keep the “best” (time, energy, money, things) for myself. What would my life look like if, instead, I chose to give to and love others sacrificially? What if I gave more of my time to my friends and neighbors, more of my energy to the kids we tutor on Thursdays, or more of my money to the church or to the poor? Would I look more like Jesus?