Last Sunday, our house bulged and sighed along with our songs and poems of lament. The floors reverberated with sounds of squealing children and our anticipation of the dawn breaking into the darkness. We sang songs, we prayed prayers, we drank a vat of coffee and pulled out every last chair. We shared stories of peace and reconciliation in our neighborhoods, and our hearts both rejoiced and ached for more.
Yes, Advent is here.
Advent with its bulging and stretching, anticipating.
Yearning and longing, aching and waiting.
Til there simply doesn't seem to be any more room.
We utter a sonnet of pain as we wait for joy's song.
We grope in the darkness as we watch for light's dawn.
We cry out in discomfort as we are pushed to the edges of all we have known.
No room. No margin.
No more carnage of hate, greed, and violence. Our hearts protest. We just can't take it.
No more shackles of fear, shame and falsehood. Our hearts cry out for liberation.
No more.
No more room in the inn.
No more room in our house.*
There just isn't enough.
Room in our hearts.
Our lives.
Our calendars.
No room.
Until.
The long-awaited birth.
Until the miracle.
Until a whole new world unfurls.
Until what is impossible suddenly transforms into possibility.
Until a space opens up that is large enough for all of us.
Until a love expands wide enough to hold a world of hurt.
Until a peace descends deep enough to fill up all the cracks.
Until...
Jesus comes.
Yes, Advent is here.
It is bulging and stretching, anticipating. Yearning and longing, aching and waiting.
Prepare him room.
*As our house bulges, please know that there is always more than enough room for you and we are full of anticipation about what the Spirit is birthing in our midst. We are putting out more chairs this week and hopeful that a community third place will open up to us in the new year.
by Jessica Ketola
Yes, Advent is here.
Advent with its bulging and stretching, anticipating.
Yearning and longing, aching and waiting.
Til there simply doesn't seem to be any more room.
We utter a sonnet of pain as we wait for joy's song.
We grope in the darkness as we watch for light's dawn.
We cry out in discomfort as we are pushed to the edges of all we have known.
No room. No margin.
No more carnage of hate, greed, and violence. Our hearts protest. We just can't take it.
No more shackles of fear, shame and falsehood. Our hearts cry out for liberation.
No more.
No more room in the inn.
No more room in our house.*
There just isn't enough.
Room in our hearts.
Our lives.
Our calendars.
No room.
Until.
The long-awaited birth.
Until the miracle.
Until a whole new world unfurls.
Until what is impossible suddenly transforms into possibility.
Until a space opens up that is large enough for all of us.
Until a love expands wide enough to hold a world of hurt.
Until a peace descends deep enough to fill up all the cracks.
Until...
Jesus comes.
Yes, Advent is here.
It is bulging and stretching, anticipating. Yearning and longing, aching and waiting.
Prepare him room.
*As our house bulges, please know that there is always more than enough room for you and we are full of anticipation about what the Spirit is birthing in our midst. We are putting out more chairs this week and hopeful that a community third place will open up to us in the new year.
by Jessica Ketola
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