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The
Pink Room: Thoughts About Intentional Living
Chapter
17/ Advent.
Part
1 (Previous post contain the previous chapters.)
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I always loved Advent as a child--the
building of a season of giving, the reminders of the special parts of the story
of the birth of Jesus drawn out for weeks seemed special.
The Advent wreath would come out and
be visible one or two weeks before Advent in our church. The trees would go up in
the church around the altar and were always decorated simply. Most years it was
white lights and a gold bow on top. Often two tall ones, 20’ or so, and a few
shorter ones would be in the background. It was simple and beautiful. The
church was mostly white with some gold accents so it brought everything to
life.
Hope, preparation, joy and love were
the weeks’ themes--three purple candles and one pink, not in that order. The
third candle was the pink one. That one fascinated me. Joy. I would wait for
joy.
It was and is the Shepherds’ candle.
The very same Shepherds that had angles visit them and announce that the Christ
child was born in a manger.
These, the dirtiest of dirty, the
ones that could never go to temple because they were essentially outcasts—these
were the ones that the Lord of All decided to announce his arrival to. These
people could not testify and were not accounted for in any meaningful way,
these people were the ones who cared for the sheep. Those sheep were sacrifices
at the temple. On one side like the messiah, caring for the hapless trusting
sheep, and other the other side caring for what the messiah would become—a sacrifice.
I was privileged enough to see The
Shepherd’s Fields in person. This peaceful garden, with a chapel and a grotto,
and, oddly, giant orange bubble letters across the entry gate “gloria in excelsis
deo.” The only strange thing about this place was the giant orange letters; they
were a stark contrast to the rest of the place reminding me of Dunkin’ Donuts’
sign. “Glory to God in the Highest!” it screamed into its surroundings.
At
the end of our time there, my brother and I followed a group of nuns and a
priest who were singing hymns in German all the way out the “Glory to God in
the Highest” gate.
This
place was quite a distance from Jerusalem, thirty minutes by bus; a lot longer
by donkey. It was a ten minute car ride from the site of the birth of Christ. I
remember it being so quiet and still. It was also very striking by contrast to
the commotion of the cabs and the culture of bartering and being right in the
face of tourists. I also found it humorous that the
Canadians were the ones that built the chapel there in this place that was set
apart and peaceful.
Even now, today, this place was the
embodiment of the spirit of advent.
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What is remarkable, the people who
were the farthest, they felt, from the love of God experienced the greatest joy
of all; and healing probably. This announcement, of the King of the Jews, of
the savior of their people, this clear and present miracle announced,
undeniably, by angles and bridged Holy and set apart with the lowest of lowly—and
they probably wet their pants.
