Advent II: The Diffuser

Before where I sit each morning is an artsy diffuser. Made by an artist in the mountains, it holds a candle below and a metal tray above. The candle heats the tray which is holding water and oils. When the water heats up, a wonderful aroma fills my studio. I light the candle each morning when I sit to center myself and it often helps create a climate of prayer and meditation, but not this morning.

Like many, I’ve stepped up my spiritual practices in Advent. Because of some pressing needs, I’ve let my usual routine of reading, writing and sitting still slide. Advent offers an invitation to reclaim those spiritual practices, but today it was all I could do to sit still for 20 minutes. I refused to get up but opened my eyes and waited for the time to pass. I stared at the diffuser in front of me, watching the flame flicker and the steam beginning to rise. I realized the diffuser itself was the meditation for the day.

My spiritual practices are the candle. Just because I light it does not mean the affects are immediate. The metal tray must heat up, then the water, before the steam rises. So, too, the affects of my spiritual work rise only in time. I must be patient with my reclaimed efforts knowing that they will warm my soul and cause me to bring forth that which is within me into the world. Watching the candle, I find it easier to sit still.

Advent I

Driving up to the North Carolina mountains on the first weekend of November, I saw every other car heading home with a Christmas tree strapped to its roof. Even for those who like to celebrate Christmas early, this was a stretch. As a never-before-Thanksgiving purist, I resisted the temptation to judge and realized how hungry we all are to bring Christmas into the world this year. 

To say it’s been a difficult year is an obvious under-statement. Limping my way into Advent, emotionally, I’ve never wanted to get the tree up, lights lit, and music on more. Like those with the trees on their cars, I long for Christmas. I long for the smells and sounds, connecting with family and friends even at a distance, and thinking about things other than viruses and politics.

Never has Christmas felt like the gift it is. I don’t just mean the day itself; I mean all the days of Advent that calm our hearts, ignite our imaginations, and feed our souls. 

O come, O come, Emmanuel. God be with us each day this season as we make our way to Bethlehem. Help us to dim the world’s lights so that we can see your light, quite the noise surrounding us so we can sing along with angels, and loosen our grip on life so that we may receive the gift of the one who is true life.

(If you need help with Christmas music, search the Chip Bristol Christmas mixes on Spotify: Traditional Christmas, Meditative Christmas, Popular Christmas.)

Thanksgiving 2020

“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.” ― Albert Camus

Gratitude has often been easy for me. As a child, I felt particularly blessed. With a loving family, a wonderful home, and good friends it was easy to feel blessed. Because I didn’t know what to do my gratitude, I directed it to God. Looking back, I can see that gratitude was my first theological thought, my first hymn, and my most frequent sermon. 

I suppose that’s one reason I’ve always loved Thanksgiving. More than the fact that the food was good, the attire relaxed, and I got to see my cousins, it was a day of gratitude and I found it easy to come up with a list of things for which I was thankful when I was told to bow my head at the table.

But this Thanksgiving comes while my heart is troubled by all that is going on in the world. The political yard signs have been put away, but the scars remain. A pandemic has disrupted every aspect of life and we are staggering with fatigue from the new protocols and the way people do or do not comply. The houses in our neighborhood have not moved, but everyone seems more distant than a year ago. Keeping a social distance and wearing masks haven’t helped.

Just as a shadow draws attention to a light, an illness to good health, a loss to a beloved friend, the present darkness can either shroud our blessings or cause them to stand out. 

We cannot be with everyone we love this year – aren’t we blessed to love so many?

We’re exhausted (hurt, happy, wounded) from the election – aren’t we blessed to live where people care about their country?

We’re distraught by the statistics – aren’t we blessed to have our health?

We are worried about our finances – aren’t we blessed to have food at the table and enough to give to others?

We’re confused by all that’s happening – aren’t we blessed to have faith?

In the midst of the darkness, or winter, that surrounds us this Thanksgiving, there’s a light, or invincible summer, and on that I will focus as I bow my head this year.