Even though I didn't grown up in a traditional liturgical church, the years at Park Place, in Seminary, and friendships with the likes of Arthur, Ed, Kelley and Rhonda, and Carma have taught me to appreciate the beauty of celebrating tradition, liturgy and the church calendar.
For the last seven years, this time of the year begins my season of Advent. Sure, I'm waiting for the Christ-child and all the other biblical stuff, but I will be lying if I didn't also confess that my season of Advent included waiting for that time of getting to be in the birth-place home. Sure, the time to get on the plane isn't too, too far away anymore, but at the same time, it's not quite here yet.
Every year, I wait.
Anxious to get out of the ridiculous slush of the Anderson winters.
Restless to be done with academics.
Excited to see family and friends again.
This year, new traditions await.
I sit in Kathrin and Stefan's study that has been my bedroom for the last two months, watching the bamboo sway outside the window.
There is no ridiculous slush or wintry winds I want to get out of.
No academics I want to be done with.
But still, I wait.
Waiting for answers to the visa process.
But more importantly, waiting for faith.
At SupaKids (the Bible club the Beisleys, Steve and I are involved with at Matipo Primary School on Wednesdays), we've been talking about being committed. As we discussed each of the Bible stories with the kids, I was reminded of the motif paper I wrote for Biblical Foundations of Mission, where we were asked to trace the missio Dei (Latin for "mission/work of God") through the Bible. The motif I wrote about was God's covenant to relationships. Beginning from Noah and the rainbow, to Abraham and Canaan, to the prophetic calls to return to the covenantal relationship, to Jesus of Nazareth, to the letters of Paul, the consistent theme I saw was that God was most interested in relationships.
I've been thinking a lot about Isaac.
If Aotearoa was my Isaac, am I willing to leave it at the altar?
And what if God doesn't spare my Isaac?
Does that change my relationship with God?
Back when I started my Seminary journey, the covenant that God made were the words from the good old Charles W. Naylor hymn:
"When I am safe at home,
Or in a foreign land,
When on an icebound shore,
Or on a sunlit strand
...
For the last seven years, this time of the year begins my season of Advent. Sure, I'm waiting for the Christ-child and all the other biblical stuff, but I will be lying if I didn't also confess that my season of Advent included waiting for that time of getting to be in the birth-place home. Sure, the time to get on the plane isn't too, too far away anymore, but at the same time, it's not quite here yet.
Every year, I wait.
Anxious to get out of the ridiculous slush of the Anderson winters.
Restless to be done with academics.
Excited to see family and friends again.
This year, new traditions await.
I sit in Kathrin and Stefan's study that has been my bedroom for the last two months, watching the bamboo sway outside the window.
There is no ridiculous slush or wintry winds I want to get out of.
No academics I want to be done with.
But still, I wait.
Waiting for answers to the visa process.
But more importantly, waiting for faith.
At SupaKids (the Bible club the Beisleys, Steve and I are involved with at Matipo Primary School on Wednesdays), we've been talking about being committed. As we discussed each of the Bible stories with the kids, I was reminded of the motif paper I wrote for Biblical Foundations of Mission, where we were asked to trace the missio Dei (Latin for "mission/work of God") through the Bible. The motif I wrote about was God's covenant to relationships. Beginning from Noah and the rainbow, to Abraham and Canaan, to the prophetic calls to return to the covenantal relationship, to Jesus of Nazareth, to the letters of Paul, the consistent theme I saw was that God was most interested in relationships.
I've been thinking a lot about Isaac.
If Aotearoa was my Isaac, am I willing to leave it at the altar?
And what if God doesn't spare my Isaac?
Does that change my relationship with God?
Back when I started my Seminary journey, the covenant that God made were the words from the good old Charles W. Naylor hymn:
"When I am safe at home,
Or in a foreign land,
When on an icebound shore,
Or on a sunlit strand
...
From His unbounded love
I am the Lord's, I know
For all eternity"
I've been asked on several occasions if my faith wasn't big enough to believe that if God called me to Aotearoa, a way would be provided for me to stay here. The truth is, I don't know how big my faith is. I only know that God's covenant to me was that Aotearoa or not, I still am the Lord's. What I get to do or where I get to be doesn't change that covenant relationship with my God.
So I'm sorry if that means my faith isn't big enough.
I don't know how much time I have with my Isaac.
I just know that as long as I have my Isaac, I'm giving all that I am and have.
That's the covenant with my God.
Editor's Note: This post kicks off the Advent series for this year.
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