Where time meets eternity - Advent

There's a lot to like about two consecutive rainy cool days in West Central Florida.

One - of course - is the constant hum of the tea kettle on the boil. Weather like this lends itself to British style hot tea and what's left of Thanksgiving's date-nut bread. The constant background, though, has been the weaving of a devotional tapestry via pretty-much every seasonal music CD we own. From the Kenny Gee "Faith" album through James Taylor's holiday stylings, massed choirs singing the classics, baroque instrumentals, soulful carols by the "Blind Boys of Alabama", Canadian Brass, and several awesome acoustic guitar selections by people who play their hearts out and leave us breathless every time.

I enjoy watching Rebekah move through the house with creative purpose, slowly assembling an Advent ambiance that is unique every year. It's an art form, a festive feng-shui we could charge admission for people to experience it's that good!

Yesterday evening, rounding the corner with two cups of steaming tea in hand, I saw her tinkering with the tree, adjusting something that spoke subtly of Advent hope, a private smile lighting the edges of her mouth.

"What are you enjoying so much," I asked. I think I already knew, but magic spoken aloud is that much more compelling.

"Just a memory," she said.

But it was more than a memory, it was a moment; this moment, this slice of our life together, lived out in peace and served up with hot tea, experienced in a home that we have crafted together out of faithful lives and years of raising children, in the context of abiding faith and the deep knowledge and experience of grace upon grace.

We may live in the now; but this exact time in chronos is layered with meaning and purpose that make more sense in our experience of kairos. When Rebekah paused - her hand resting on a particular object that called up both memory and promise - what occurred happened both at 8:45 PM in the evening of December 4, 2009 and in the context of a timeless interface with the Kingdom that Jesus talked about so much via parable and invitation.

Such moments exist in the same reality as the conversation I enjoyed with my cousin, Linda, a few days ago. I believe this is the secret to embracing the coming of Jesus in a fresh way each year. Not a drummed up emotion leveraged by ritual or by guilt or by nostalgia... but an apprehension that we exist - as human beings - in a realm that is neither limited by time and space nor by the narrow constructs we impose, rationales necessarily limited by the parameters of our finite brains and "verifiable" experiences.

My advice? Just be open to the Spirit. Be free-thinkers in the truest sense of the word. In other words, free ourselves from the limits of our prejudice and limited view of what is possible.

Peace; Grace; Hope; Love & Joy - DEREK

Driving around Tampa Bay

Today's post simply comprises a series of random dash-board photographs - taken while driving from Clearwater to Tampa Thursday late morning. More interesting than profound. I thought the sky was beautiful, and driving from point A to point B really is a lot of what we do around here!

If anyone can explain these next two to me, I'd love to know! No, the pics are not in reverse order, I was simply driving backwards!

Enjoy - DEREK

Tampa Bay Presbytery Treasure - Advent continued

Small departure from the Advent theme today; but not really. This post is all about promise.

Here's the thing. This morning I drove over to Clearwater with Rebekah because she was being installed at the moderator for Tampa Bay Presbytery. She says it's simply her turn to run meetings and attend events. But it's actually more than that, because if there's anything the Presbyterian Church around Tampa needs right now it's Rebekah's level of passion, her unbounded enthusiasm, her clear sense of vision, and her untempered faith that anything is possible for those who believe.

The theme of today's events was "Treasure." The emphasis presented by the outgoing moderator focused on "what do we consider to be our treasure... and what are we going to do with the gifts we've been challenged to utilize?"

Here's where providence was at work. Yesterday Rebekah received her copy of The Presbyterian Outlook, a weekly news magazine read by most Presbyterian Clergy and church leaders nationwide; and so did every other leader in the Tampa Bay area. Inside was the following article; it happened to be all about treasure.

Now I'm not so naive as to believe that any but a few took note of the by-line at the top of the article. But I do chose to believe that more than a few hearts and minds were touched by what they read.

I pray that yours is, too - DEREK

Ultimately, it's all about mission
- DEREK MAUL (The Presbyterian Outlook)

ROME - There’s nothing like a comprehensive tour of Vatican City for remembering why we’re a reformation church. A pause of just 60 seconds at each priceless artifact, our guide told us, would add up to 12 years viewing the museum alone.

I haven’t been to Louisville lately, but I’m guessing Presbyterians don’t have much in the way of valuable art beyond maybe a couple of velvet Elvis paintings and possibly a few nice coffee mugs. It occurred to me that we should be just as proud.

In the third century, Roman emperor Valerian ordered archdeacon Lorenzo to bring him all the wealth of the Christian church. Lorenzo introduced Valerian to the blind, the diseased, the lame and the poor. “These are the treasures of the church,” he insisted. The action earned him a torturous death.

I’d like to think that Lorenzo was an early Presbyterian. Because - at the foundation of who we are – all our most valuable resources are tied up in mission.

My wife and I were in Italy to visit our son, Andrew, who works for the U.S. government. But knows beyond a doubt that God sent him to Europe on purpose. His heart is in his volunteer mission projects with military brats, Department of Defense children, embassy kids, ex-patriot dependents and the men’s ministry on base.

But the place he first discovered his deep passion for mission and service was the Presbyterian Church. Honduras outreach trips, PDA relief work in Mississippi, and work with special needs children - all through his home congregation in Brandon, Florida.

So long as this church keeps its heart and its passion rooted in Gospel, in being the hands, feet, ears and eyes of Jesus, and in the practice of witness and compassion in this hurting world, then we will never need a museum to house our treasures.

Our guide in the Catacombs of San Sebastian, along the Appian Way and far from the extravagance that defines St. Peter’s, told a story that hit home. “Sebastian was nothing more than a Roman soldier and a simple Christian man,” he told us. “All he did was to follow Jesus. He lived his faith out loud, he told his friends about Christ, and he would not bow to Rome.”

I believe that is the kind of sainthood we are all called to live.

Advent - Hope - Family

Advent continued: another day, another story:

One of my fond memories of growing up in England is of decorating our house in December. It's not the way we'd do it today (I think my sense of feng shui has evolved over the years!) but it was exactly right at the time!

My brother and I loved to string stuff, from point to point. We used endless rolls of crinkled crepe paper, twisted just so and running from corner to corner and along the walls, then all meeting in the middle at the light fixture. Red, green, white, yellow; it looked more like a birthday party than Christmas but it was our signature style. Then, just to make the display as over-the-top as possible, we'd dangle hundreds of icicles.

Finally, and for me this was the best of all, we'd run lines of string along the walls for the Christmas cards; they'd go up immediately they came in, the display expanding from day to day. We'd measure a good year for Christmas cards in terms of how many strands lined the walls.

One Christmas - I must have been younger than ten - the greetings card from my uncle Norman and auntie Olive came with a package containing an audio tape. They were missionaries, serving in Hong Kong, and it was the only time we heard their voices (and those of my cousins) in three years. We gathered around the massive reel-to-reel tape and, after it was done, recorded a message of our own to send back.

Communications have certainly come a long way since then.

Yesterday I spent 45 minutes talking via SKYPE with my cousin Linda. Linda and her husband, Dave, live in Newbury, about 50 miles West of London in the U.K. (there they are, enjoying a special driving experience Dave lined up for her a few months ago).

Linda had just received some additional bad news regarding her ongoing and progressive cancer. I wanted to talk. So we set up the SKYPE, me on my back porch and she in Newbury, and we shared what was on our hearts.

It was so cool to be able to see one another; to actually look into Linda's eyes while talking about deep issues. Body language and facial expression are such a vital part of communication, and it makes all the difference. Her husband, Dave, joined the conversation after a few minutes and I could see his face shift - eyebrow raised, smile lingering in his eyes, or hand to the brow - in response to what was being said.

But you still can't touch. I wanted to hug Linda when she talked about January airplane tickets she really doesn't expect to use. I wanted to put my hand on Dave's shoulder when he said he was alright now - "Because I'm with Linda in all of this.... but I'm not so sure about after...."

We prayed together at the end of the conversation, and I wish we all could have taken one-another's hands. But it was interesting how prayer itself linked us inexplicably, and I could barely speak through the tears. It was as if a different kind of conduit had opened up the moment we began to pray...

So there is communication and then there is communication. The content was necessarily deep, but something else happened when faith entered the equation. "Perfect love," Jesus said, "takes care of all fear." and "Have courage - take heart; I have overcome the world."

I've said before that my cousin Linda is a cool lady, full of grace and strength. Well, she'd say it isn't her, that the grace is all God - and even more the strength part. But that is what happens when you don't really know anymore where you come to an end and where God begins.

I' m thankful that, as who Linda is becomes more and more defined by eternity than it is by time, my cousin's faith is something that we all can embrace, and that God's powerful presence is all about the fullness of life.

Love and blessings - DEREK

Picture - Linda and Dave Andrews this summer, with my mum and dad

One for the Ages!

Picture (at left) taken on Christmas Eve of 1986, heading out the door on the way to church. Do you think they look guilty of conspiracy? Andrew is 4 yrs 6 months; Naomi is 2 yrs 4 months. How on earth did they pull this caper off?

Yesterday I promised Advent stories. Today is one of my favorite family tales from "In My Heart I Carry A Star." But it started its life in print as a newspaper column, published in the Tampa Tribune just a few days before Christmas back in 2002.

This is the original version, plus a few photographs of the wise guys in question!

The Case of the Missing Magi
- DEREK MAUL
It was the Christmas of 1986, and we were still in our first house, so Andrew and Naomi couldn't have been any more than four-and-a-half and two-and-four-months. Family tradition placed our rough-hewn manger scene close to the floor, near the underside of the tree so that carefully placed stars and angels could hover over the tableau.

Setting up is a ritual for the ages (They are young adults, now, and nothing much has changed). "She had the baby Jesus last year." "Why do I always get the camel with the broken leg?" "Your sheep is blocking my shepherd." "Give me a break, Joseph doesn't go there!" "Seems like after all these years you could let your father have a turn . . . ."

But that year, the day after we had set everything out, there was a terrible disaster. Every last wise man disappeared, all their camels too, even the baby Jesus. Rebekah and I searched in vain. We held interrogations. We issued ultimatums. Nothing.

That evening, just after bed time, we found the missing group of Magi huddled against a baseboard between their two rooms. "Good," we said, "they must understand how important this is." We placed them carefully under the tree again, thinking that - maybe - Jesus would show up the next day.

Instead, much to our dismay, Caspar, Balthasar, and Melchior went on the lam again, along with their camels! That night we found them in the back hallway, in much the same place. "Leave the Nativity alone!" We chided them, unaware of what we were saying. The manger still stood empty.

Three nights later, after three more nocturnal kidnappings, Rebekah stopped me from scooping up the evidence. "Derek," she said; "can't you see a pattern?"

Well, I have to admit that she is usually brighter than I am when it comes to this kind of thing, so I made my standard reply. "Huh?"

"Every night," she explained patiently, "our group of traveling Kings has showed up a little farther down the hall. "Derek, let's leave them alone and see what happens. They may have lost the baby Jesus, but it looks as if the Magi are traveling toward the star."

Sure enough, each day over the next three weeks the small group of pilgrims made their way a little nearer to the Christmas Tree. Usually, they huddled close to the base boards, but trekked from table-leg to table-leg and then to the shelter of the chairs when faced with the dinning room. They spent the last few days before Christmas crossing in front of the patio doors, out in the open. But they were never once disturbed. Not even by Naomi, who at two and a half managed to remain a remarkably cooperative co-conspirator.

Christmas Eve morning the magi, bearing gifts that spoke of royalty, divinity, and suffering, camped under the coffee table, just a short journey from the stable behind the inn. That evening, when we all returned from the candlelight communion service, the entire diorama was complete once again. There, in the middle, born anew, was the missing baby Jesus.

I don't know how they had pulled it off, because we never once caught Andrew in the act. But, we did learn this very important lesson. The Nativity is not a stagnant museum piece. It is an interactive drama that, at its best, draws the entire family into the story of Christmas, bringing the infant Jesus into our homes at just the right time.

Grace and peace this Christmas. The wise still seek Him.

"Open the Promise Box". Advent: Countdown to Christmas!

Yesterday marked the first Sunday in Advent. Advent is the season in the church calendar that immediately precedes Christmas. Most people forget that Christmas actually begins December 25th, and continues for 12 days. "Advent" is the time of preparation, a time set aside to make sure that our hearts and minds are ready to receive the amazing gift of Christ coming into this world.

So I was invited to speak at Palm Harbor United Methodist Church to help kick-off Advent. The congregation is reading "In My Heart I Carry A Star: stories for Advent" as a church-wide study. Thirty small-groups are meeting to discuss the book and so they thought bringing me in to give a message on "HOPE", the book's emphasis for this week, might be a good idea.

I had an awesome experience, getting to speak to around 300 people at the 8:15 service, and then close to 1,000 at the 9:45.

My "sermon" was titled "Open the Promise Box", (click on the link to find the 25-minute audio file) and I built the message around a childhood memory. The story went something like this:

Whenever we went to visit my grandma Lily, one of the highlights was always “Can we see the Promise Box?”

There are over 3,000 promises in the Bible… And my grandmother had just about every last one of them in a box, rolled in tight little tubes of hope and standing upright – like they would – so that when we took the lid off and looked down all we could see was around three-thousand small circles.

And so we’d open the box, taking the lid off carefully – almost reverently – and pick up the pair of ivory-handled tweezers that always lay across the top.

“Now pull out a promise,” she’s say; “And let’s read it together.” And we would. Something like:

• “The LORD himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged. (Deut 31:8 NIV)
• Then you will call, and the LORD will answer; You will cry, and He will say, "Here I am.” (Isaiah 58:9)
• (Heb 10:23) - Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful.
• (Phil 4:6-7) - Do not be anxious about anything.... And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
• (Mark 10:27) - But Jesus looked at them and said, “With men it is impossible, but not with God; for with God all things are possible.”
  

And Grandma Lily would make us memorize the promise - and then we’d put it away, carefully, and the promises of the scriptures became seared into our minds… and seeded into our subconscious… and became a part of who we were as children of light….

For me, the idea of HOPE is bound up in the theology of Promise. I concluded the message by referencing the Apostle Pauls' amazing declaration in Second Corinthians 1: 18-22

But as surely as God is faithful, our message to you is not "Yes" and "No." For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, who was preached among you by me and Silas and Timothy, was not "Yes" and "No," but in him it has always been "Yes." For no matter how many promises God has made, they are "Yes" in Christ. And so through him the "Amen" is spoken by us to the glory of God. Now it is God who makes both us and you stand firm in Christ. He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.

Now that's something to head into December holding on to!

Love and blessings - DEREK

Exhausting Fun

Now that was one exhausting day. Fun and wonderful, but exhausting. We ended up with 22 before it was over - although Liam Black never occupied an actual seat because he wasn't all that interested in the proceedings and only wanted to be held - but not really. Very much the six-month old and pretty-much fussy for the duration.

The new kitchen worked out beautifully; Rebekah bonded with the new setup and had fun making all sorts of scrumptious goodies. She says that granite counter-tops work very very well for making "angel biscuits" and she was right.

Cleaning up was actually easier as I can now see everyone and what's going on. Heather and then our neighbor, Bill, helped things run smoothly. Two of the casseroles were in Heather's "Pampered Chef" dishes. I was told not to use soap, just hot water and one of those plastic scrapers. The reason, apparently, is to protect the special "patina" - it takes years to set just right.

"Patina", I have discovered, is actually a little known French word that, translated, means "Stained and dried-on rotting food."

The nieces were great all week long. Lindsay and Jordan, both high school freshman, came a couple of days early and did things such as shine silver (left) and chop vegetables (right). They worked hard and were perfect guests. In fact - and parents everywhere will laugh at this - they're always excited to come: "Please let us go to Brandon and work our rear-ends off for Aunt 'Bekah this week!"

These are the days I miss our "off-grade" home in Pensacola, with the crawl-space under the house, decking and then wooden floors. So much gentler on the shins and knees when standing in the kitchen for hours on end!

So everyone just about went home by 9:30 PM and just the Jacksonville Alexanders stayed. Late night tea and Rebekah's amazing date-nut bread. Then more cooking this morning as the kids just "had to" have "Uncle-Derek's best pancakes in the world."

Yeah, I'm that good!

Peace to all. But, as tomorrow is the first Sunday in Advent, let's say "Hope" and Peace - DEREK