Friday, December 14, 2012

Advent Week 2 Still moving

Our theme this week was Redefining Darkness. We had two people who shared personal experiences that were particularly meaningful. One person who is a public defender for death penalty inmates  shared about how she sees Christ in the people she works with who are often in dark places and certainly a dark time of their life and how they have redefined their darkness. The other one was sharing about working in the basement and sometimes being afraid of the spookiness as he sometime leaves it without a flashlight. It was representative of some personal struggles he has had but told in a way that even children could relate to.
We added a candle to the table. Both candles were brought in by two women singing " We are Your people of the night..." ( The white candle is our peace candle that is lit every Sunday- the two behind are the Advent candles.)

 Folks did a pretty good job of remembering to return their tin candle lights to the community for worship. Kelsey was lighting one that someone hadn't turn on- sharp eye!

The stars the children made last week and added to our worship table as our journey is brightening. Aren't they displayed in the most beautiful mosaic bowl (with Christmas lights in the bottom). I'm putting a large version so you can see that it is made with depression glass with precious detail.
 This is the carving for week two that was on the bulletin cover.

We opened the curtain a bit and hung a wicker star. From my perspective it appeared to be hanging from the utility line outside!

This beautiful poem from  Jan Richardson was read this week. I just love it!

Blessing for the Longest Night
All throughout these months
as the shadows
have lengthened,
this blessing has been
gathering itself,
making ready,
preparing for
this night.
It has practiced
walking in the dark,
traveling with
its eyes closed,
feeling its way
by memory
by touch
by the pull of the moon
even as it wanes.
So believe me
when I tell you
this blessing will
reach you
even if you
have not light enough
to read it;
it will find you
even though you cannot
see it coming.
You will know
the moment of its
by your release
of the breath
you have held
so long;
a loosening
of the clenching
in your hands,
of the clutch
around your heart;
a thinning
of the darkness
that had drawn itself
around you.
This blessing
does not mean
to take the night away
but it knows
its hidden roads,
knows the resting spots
along the path,
knows what it means
to travel
in the company
of a friend.
So when
this blessing comes,
take its hand.
Get up.
Set out on the road
you cannot see.
This is the night
when you can trust
that any direction
you go,
you will be walking
toward the dawn.
© Jan L. Richardson.

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