Congratulations to Adrienne Holmes! You won a copy of my silly play! Inbox me your address, pretty please!
We’re all still here. We aren’t all necessarily “fine”, though.
Last week we were given reason to mourn. Now, in our grief, we prove that we’re very adept at arguing over ideology.
This week, an alarming number of schools across my state were closed. People made threats. Very scary and specific threats. Someone I love very much was on a “list”. I just can’t make sense of it. Not at all.
Fear and grief are thick, wide, round. They compound one another.
And next week is Christmas.
I’ve never really understood the song “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” quite so much as I do this year.
"O come, o Come, Emmanuel And ransom captive Israel That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of God appear. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, oh Israel. O come, Thou Day-spring come and cheer Our spirits by Thine advent here. Disperse the gloomy clouds of night And death's dark shadow put to flight. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, oh Israel.
Merry Christmas. And rejoice because Emmanuel will come to set all things right.
I do wish he’d hurry. But then it occurs to me: what have I done to help get the world ready for his return? Not that my particular task here on earth is of any great significance; but is he waiting for us-the-aggregate-church to get to some point, some line we must cross before he comes? Some days it feels like we’re getting further and further behind, and God’s frustration with his Creation is building moment by moment; and every second, I expect to hear a whistle blowing through the skies, and God’s thundering voice: “That’s it! Everybody out of the pool!”