"Who is Coming to Our House?" and the Gift of Waiting

Long before working on this Advent picture book project, I read Joseph Slate’s Who is Coming to Our House? and immediately loved it. It’s another one of those Nativity stories full of animals, yet it’s also very different.

With beautiful woodcut-type illustrations, Joseph Slate and illustrator Ashley Wolff show a cozy barn full of animals. They all ask, “Who is coming to our house?" “Someone, someone,” says the mouse. And then they take turns, making the barn a welcomed place for this special Someone.

At its core, this is a story about waiting. Active waiting. The kind of waiting we usually aren’t very good at. What will be do, as we wait for baby Jesus arrive? Will we ready a space for Him? Clean out the corners, lay out new hay? If we are honest with ourselves, we like to jump right past the waiting part and take on active endeavors. We are nothing like the industrious rams, lambs, and geese. The tasks we like to set our minds to, are just that—things to ease our consciences and tell ourselves that we’ve got everything under control.

Last week, Dorcas Cheng-Tozun published an article entitled The Grace of Waiting: Advent 2019. She has a lot of say on this topic. And even though it doesn’t make sense at first glance, as I read her words, I immediately thought of Slates picture book. For the industrious waiting of the animals seems to highlight what Cheng-Tozun wants us to bear in mind. She says,

Advent is all about waiting — until it’s not. . .

I have come to believe that, oftentimes, we need the waiting period. We need that time to wonder and worry and wander. We need the opportunity to try almost everything else: Can I fix it myself? Can I make this better? Can I find answers elsewhere?

And then, only then, are we ready to see the work of God. The failures, the missteps, the despair, the many, many disappointments — these both break and rebuild us.

In my most painful times of waiting, I have seen my own sense of control crumble. My ego has been severely deflated. The priorities that should never have been priorities fall away. And that creates space for me to see a little more clearly what’s real and true, what matters and what’s eternal.

. . . We need to be readied for change, and that takes time. So God waits. And he lets us wait with him. It may seem like we don’t bear much fruit during these arduous, confusing liminal spaces, but we can build up our courage, our faith, our hope, which in turn builds up our capacity to flower and bloom when the time is right.

The animals have done everything in their power to ready the barn for their special guest. And yet, some still doubt. “But it is dark,” says the cat. “They will never come,” says the rat. This is the moment when the waiting seems the hardest and most perplexing. But it’s also the moment when faith steps in. “Yes, they’ll come,” says the Mouse. “Someone’s coming to this house.”

And off in the distance, Mary and Joseph are seen, approaching at the barn. A short while later, all the animals look down upon a new baby in Mary’s arms and say, “Welcome, welcome to our house!”

Events hardly happen simultaneously. Time is ordered. Waiting is built in to prepare us for whatever is next. Yet the God of all space and time doesn’t leave us to get lost in this chronology. As He waits to introduce the next note, the next step, the next sneeze, He lets us to participate in the story and wait with Him. He doesn’t have to. But He chooses to include us, the ordinary characters full of worries, doubts, and refrains.

I wonder if this might change our idea of waiting this Advent. Waiting as a gift? I know it’s given me reason to pause.

"Great Joy" and the Angel's Upside Down Announcement

Advent has been speeding by this year. And yet, as I look at my social media feeds, I don’t see as many articles and stories about the Christmas season as in years past. I wonder why that is. Maybe they think everything’s already been said. It probably has. But if the last post is true, we need those yearly Advent reminders.

The church year calendar is there to keep us on track. Not for some checklist of holy tasks, but in sync with the rhythm of our need and God’s provision.

The 3^rd Sunday of Advent is traditionally called Gaudete Sunday. It comes from the Latin word, gaudete, meaning rejoice. Today we light the candle of Joy. What better way to reflect on that theme than with Kate DiCamillo’s Christmas tale, Great Joy.

I didn’t think I’d be using many non-Nativity stories for this year’s reflections, but I knew I could trust DiCamillo to have the right spirit in her story. If you haven’t read any of her other books, I highly recommend them. She’s written everything from beginning readers to early chapter books and middle grade novels. And she is a gem of an author.

Today’s story is about a little girl named Frances and a poor organ grinder with a pet monkey who plays music out on the street. It’s a week before Christmas and very cold outside. Frances wonders if the organ grinder is going to be ok. “Where do they go at night?” she asks her mother. But mother seems to have other things on her mind. The Christmas pageant is quickly approaching, after all, and there is still a lot to prepare.

When it is time to leave for the church, Frances sees the organ grinder, still out on the corner. “You can come,” she tells him. “The play is at the church. It’s just down the street. You can both come.” He smiles back. But she could tell he was sad.

Back stage at the church, everyone is bustling around, getting ready for their scene. When it is Frances’ turn to play the angel, she stands frozen on the stage, unable to say a word. All she could think about was the organ grinder, outside, alone on the snowy street.

The world was quiet. Everyone waited. Then, at the back of the sanctuary, a door opened. Frances smiled.

"Behold!” she shouted. “I bring you tidings of Great Joy!”

And because the words felt so right, Frances said them again, "Great Joy!”

DiCamillo’s story is unassuming, yet packs a hard punch as the “world quietly waits” to see what will happen. There isn’t a clear analogy here, but a demonstration of God’s great compassion for each of us, from the very lowest to the richest king.

The angels could have performed in Jerusalem for the court of King Herod, yet as Mary exalts in her Magnificat, “God has brought down the mighty from their thrones and exalted those of humble estate” (Luke 1:52). He chose the lowly shepherds to be the first ones to hear the Good News. It was not because the rulers of the land needed to hear the message any less, but because declaring this flipped-on-its-head Gospel to the shepherds “felt so right.”

A humbled savior, announced to honored laborers.

And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.

- Luke 2:10-11

"Our Very Own Christmas" and the Road to Bethlehem

I’d never heard of today’s picture book before this year. But when I was browsing through my library’s Christmas books a couple weeks ago, I happened upon it. Our Very Own Christmas by Annette Langen and Marije Tolman surprised me with its whimsical mixture of secular and sacred. When I brought it home, I didn’t know how I wanted to use the book, and then I read an article suggested by The Story Warren (an amazing little website, if you’re at all inclined towards the melding of faith and the literacy life), and I immediately knew what I wanted to say. That happens a lot. I am always thankful for modern-day saints whose words act as springboards (often alongside Scripture) to put my thoughts into words.

Our Very Own Christmas is the story of two young children, Kelly and Franklin. The narrative begins,

Yes, indeed. Kelly knows all the things that happened on Christmas. For when it gets dark outside, she likes to be Mary. And her little brother, Franklin, always gets to be Joseph. And when they are Mary and Joseph, they always set out on the long journey to Bethlehem.

In the Gospels, there is a pulsing thread woven through the text. Everything is leading to Jerusalem. “The road to Jerusalem” becomes a symbol of preparation. Preparation for worship, for holy-day, for sacrifice, for the greatest Sacrifice. Likewise, when we hear, “the road to Bethlehem,” our minds know we are taking about expectation. Expectation and preparation. Indeed, they are quite a pair.

Kelly and Franklin don’t follow a particular timetable as they travel to “Bethlehem”, they aren’t in any rush. As they amble along, they recite the milestones of the story out loud, until Franklin whispers, “What’s next, Kelly?” They know the story, but still, there is a need to make sure that they are telling it right.

At the end, Kelly tells young Franklin,

“So there you see, all the things that happened on Christmas.”
“Hmmm . . .” Franklin says happily. “. . . and tomorrow we will go to Bethlehem again.”

I think Franklin is on to something. On this side of Heaven, rehearsing the road to Bethlehem on a regular basis will never be enough. Each Advent, we get but a glimpse of the fulfillment we will one day experience with the victorious King. In the meantime, we fall into a trap that Emily Jensen writes about in her article, “Our Longing for God Himself.” She says,

We're not looking forward to the advent of Christ himself, but to the gifts he brings in the sack over his shoulder. In our eagerness to gain from his gifts, we might forget to stop and inhale the aroma of his love. . . Someday, when God makes all things new, all of our “never enough” longings will be met in him. We will enjoy the good gifts he gives.

And more than any other good gift, God wants to give you the better gift of himself. Just look at his track record—in the garden of Eden, in the manger at Bethlehem, on the cross at Calvary, in the indwelling person of the Holy Spirit. He won’t stop until Christ returns and he can give you himself forever. Whatever you’re longing for today, the weight of God’s glory, character, and goodness can bear it. Whatever “never enough” you’re experiencing today is fulfilled by “the always and forever enough” of God.

Advent is about waiting and longing. But we easily get distracted and lose track of what we are supposed to be yearning for. Kelly and Franklin’s actions can best be described as play (following the five components of early literacy I mentioned at the beginning of the season), however, the acting out of the Christmas story also brings Philippians 2:12-13 to mind:

Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed—not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence—continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.

As we rehearse God’s narrative of redemption, Advent helps us work out our salvation. With great humility, we acknowledge that Jesus lowered Himself in order to save us from our sins. With great rejoicing, we praise Him for the gift of becoming a human in order to show us the Way. What better way to “play,” than to picture ourselves on the road to Bethlehem, ready to experience both expectation and joy.