a few faces.

One day soon I will write about driving to and fro, emerging from winter into summer, and hopelessly falling fast for all things DC.

For now, a picture of life--green, vibrant, whole, undisturbed life.

Why we wait.

A Litany of Longing from "The Magnificat Advent Companion"


In the dryness of prayer, we long for you O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus (Rev 22:20)

In the dissatisfaction of useless entertainments, we long for you, O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In the desert created in us by overwork, we long for you O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In our thirst to love and be loved, we long for you O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In our yearning for priorities that matter, we long for you O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In our desire for a just world, we long for you, O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In the darkness of our accumulated sins, we long for you, O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In the hopelessness of our addictions, we long for you O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In the emptiness of habits of mind that nourish no one, we long for you, O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In our restlessness for something beyond our present good, we long for you, O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In our search for an anchor in life, we long for you, O Lord!
Come, Lord Jesus.

In our pursuit of beauty and goodness, we long for you, O Lord!

Come, Lord Jesus.

may he find us.

Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a mansion prepared for himself; who live and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Amen.

happy new year.

Today marks the beginning of Advent. For four weeks the Church will anticipate the coming of the King, reflecting on poignant parts of this remarkable story of redemption.

I hope to write a weekly reflection for each week of this season. Tonight St. Brendan's joined with the greater Anglican Church to discuss waiting. We lit the candle of Hope, reflecting on patience for the great restoration Christ will one day bring.

For now, a prayer to begin this beautiful season:

Among the poor, among the proud,
among the persecuted,
among the privileged,
Christ is coming to make all things new.

In the private house, in the public place,
in the wedding feast,
in the judgment hall,
Christ is coming to make all things new.

With a gentle touch, with an angry word,
with a clear conscience,
with burning love,
Christ is coming to make all things new.

That the kingdom might come,
that the world might believe,
that the powerful might stumble,
that the hidden might be seen,
Christ is coming to make all things new.

Within us, without us, behind us, before us,
in this place, in every place,
for this time, for all time,
Christ is coming to make all things new. 

Amen.

not just a dinner.

This is my favorite weekend of the year. The weekend prior to Thanksgiving always carries so much anticipation. In college we anticipated Sabbath from class and the joy of having just a few weeks left until Winter Break. Last year I flew home on this day to a week-long vacation with the family--which provided a much-needed break from DC and perspective and preparation for big life changes.

Since the Parents moved to Cali this summer, I decided to host a dinner for all those unable to go home for break. My little brother is coming too, and I'm superduper excited. This and this will make an appearance on the dessert menu. Want to join?

I also love this season as next week starts ADVENT! YES! I'm so ready to start the rhythm of the Christmas season. Anticipation, expectation, deliverance, redemption. There is such joy during this time of year.

I also see great significance in making the season of Thanksgiving a time of intentional remembrance. For significant blessings and provisions, for dear friends and significant conversations, for the timing of God's grace or unexpected patience from a stranger. What a profound mystery to celebrate and give thanks right before entering the time of celebrating Advent. We remember how God has redeemed, with the hope and understanding that he will do so again.

Today, I am thankful. Today I am thankful for my roommates, for this beautiful home, for our neighbors in city. I am thankful for my faraway friends (Hannah, Roberts, Woods, Wells, High, Megs); you all are so near and dear to me. I am thankful for the way God has orchestrated the move to this great city and amazing organization. I am thankful for his perfect timing--for the seasons of the earth and the seasons of life. I am thankful for my new church community, for the amazing love they continually show, and for the children I'm so privileged to teach. I am thankful for my parents' move, for the new life of Modi, for Jenna and Nathan and Jonathan and how they continue to challenge me. I am thankful for the comfort of my bed and for the heat in this home. I take none of this for granted.

Lord, may we enter this gate to Advent with Thanksgiving in our hearts.

"You are welcome here."

On a recent roadtrip, a dear friend and I landed on the discussion of what character traits we really value and really despise in friendships. I may attribute the topic to it being 2 am and us being lost in the winding roads of West Virginia, but it was so enlightening.

As my closest friend in DC, she has great ability to speak about the good (and not good, terribly bad) traits I portray. An honest and open conversation it became and we soon discussed how to remedy and not become the people or characteristics we detest.

She echoed back what I said I value most in a friendship: hospitality and trustworthiness. Not hospitality in the "let's have a slumber party at my house" way, but the type of "what's mine is yours" and "please take my jacket". I respect the individuals in my life who have shown me such a great and sacrificial welcome that I strive to be like them, and to create a world where deep hospitality is normal.

I attended a bible study in college at a professor's house. I honestly cannot tell you a lot of what we discussed, but I so vividly remember and treasure their genuine hospitality. Tim would greet us at the door, always saying "You are welcome here." I actually believed him every time. Sarah prepared the tea, and always offered her top-shelf, coveted black licorice tea. They were genuine and honest and truly welcoming.

Fast forward to a month ago when I made an extended visit to the South. Yes, the southern hospitality rumors are true. But again, it did not come in the form of a quick dinner or house party. Instead, I found genuine hospitality in the way an elderly family friend welcomed all the bridesmaids to a southern high tea at her beautiful estate. She wanted to welcome us into her home--not because she knew us or loved us--but, she said "because I know I have the ability to do this." She is gifted at making people feel comfortable and welcomed, and she beamed with love when she did so. The entire bridal family overflowed with hospitality as well--sending me back to DC with lots of food and goodies, and offering a Thanksgiving in the south. These amazing people who I have met twice make me feel ever so loved and cherished just by saying "you are welcome here."

Feeling loved evolves when one feels comfortable and welcomed. I begin to trust when I know you want me in the space you have created. Such profound conversations and friendships have evolved when someone breaks bread at their dinner table, or invites the community to their living room. I believe (and want and desire) the church should function like this; we are a community of many houses, of many spaces created to welcome any and all. What if we all welcomed in such a genuine and selfless way? There would be no person left unloved.

You are welcome here. You belong. You are loved.

on becoming Anglican.

I claim St. Brendan's of the City as my church and community home. This group of believers gathers each Sunday night in one of the city's homeless shelters, gathers around a single piano, and takes the Eucharist together. These people challenge me each week to see the gospel spilling over in each passage of scripture and in each step of the service. From the communal confession to the passing of the peace, we practice the gospel together in our actions and words; creating and orchestrating a rhythm we're to follow the rest of the week.

Attending church week after week is often hard for me. After a busy work week and a full Saturday, sometimes I receive more rest and restoration from staying home on Sunday nights. The community and gathering of believers, though, cannot function if everyone decides to receive refreshment at home. If I claim to want to practice the sacraments with this community, then I must step outside of myself to seek to share the peace with these people.

 Becoming a member of St. Brendan's community is nothing more than a verbal commitment to these people. I decide to say that the Body is greater than my needs, teaching the children is the most important speech I'll give all week, and my body and soul can return to the patterns--and the reflective and restorative Sabbath-- of the service.

I love the pattern of the Anglican service. The Eucharist clearly takes the precedence of the service; the service never relies on the sermon, or if the speaker had a bad day. Instead, taking communion together as a body demonstrates a union between one another, and between the Body and Christ. Every week we come together, to confess our sins, to celebrate each other, and to draw strength from the personhood and sacrifice of Christ.

Often in sermon-heavy churches, we can never remember the point of the message. I remember growing up how my family would often talk about the most awkward thing the pastor said that week, and I humbly admit that I could rarely remember the purpose of the sermon the next time I stepped in the church. I rejoice in the liturgy because the patterns of the service are the things that permeate my mind and actions during the week: confession, worship, prayer, passing the peace, rejoicing in Christ. I remember the words of the benediction and the purpose of why we confess as a body, much more so than I ever remembered the sermons of my church growing up. I love the repetition, the beauty of the liturgical calendar and how it wonderfully represents the seasons and the timeliness of Creation. I love how our patterns mirror the Scriptures, and the deep meaning within each gospel reading.

In two weeks I will join the Anglican Church. I will join the history of believers who proclaim the gospel in liturgy, who confess to knowing nothing beyond the love of Christ. I will join this church and commit to these people. I will say the first “I dos” in this church, representing a communcl promise to staying unified with these people. As we confess and grow and learn and discover God’s grace, we will further the kingdom together and know the beauty of the love of Christ.