
If you are weary and you know it, raise your hand. If you need time in God's word, and you know it, find it here. If you are lonesome for conversation that brings you hope and healing and joy this Advent season, welcome home.
Starting in the early evening on the first day of December, Pastor Kari will light a candle, brew some hot tea, draw her bible close and wait for you to join her. From every corner in the state (and beyond, because you can invite friends and family), we will gather via ZOOM to hear the good news of Jesus' presence, then and now and yet-to-be.
I can make this promise to you: spending time in God's word will center your Christmas 2024 experience, Close to Home. The team at Sanctified Art knows this, too. They write, "When something hits close to home, it affects us deeply. During the Advent and Christmas season, we journey through scriptures and rituals that are tender, heavy with emotion, and vulnerable. We carry the memories and truths of this season close to our hearts. Our Close to Home theme acknowledges the “already but not yet” tension of our faith: Emmanuel is with us, and yet, God’s promised day—our everlasting home—is not fully realized. It names our deep longing for God to come close to us."
"When something hits close to home, it affects us deeply. During the Advent and Christmas season, we journey through scriptures and rituals that are tender, heavy with emotion, and vulnerable. We carry the memories and truths of this season close to our hearts. Our Close to Home theme acknowledges the “already but not yet” tension of our faith: Emmanuel is with us, and yet, God’s promised day—our everlasting home—is not fully realized. It names our deep longing for God to come close to us."
I wonder if everyone carries a sort of mystical dreamy image of "home" in their hearts? An amalgam of grandma's kitchen and a best friend's front porch and your dad's favorite easy chair by a fireplace that burns low but never fully extinguishes. This is the home that interrupts our wandering with a beckoning. Maybe another name for that home is heaven, I suppose.
My grandma's home in Sisseton was just a short walk to Grace Lutheran Church, a thriving congregation that was central to our visits. We came often, of course, but especially on the holidays--Fourth of July to celebrate birthdays, Memorial Day to decorate the graves, Labor Day to winterize the house and always, always on Christmas for candle-light services and a dining room table laden with Norwegian cookies, lefse, meatballs and lutefisk (and its mind-bending aroma from which there was no escape).
The Christmas tree stretched from corner to corner, and brushed against the ceiling of Grandma's sunroom, so that its lights reflected from windows on three sides. Some years, when lots of cousins were home, the presents were piled so high you couldn't even walk into the room. I was one of the youngest, so it was my job to wiggle under the tree to pour water into the tree stand. I navigated the tangle of branches, crispy pine needles and light cords as a point of pride, glad that I had such an important job to do.
On Christmas Eve, we dressed in our sweaters and snow boots, bundling up to walk to Grace Lutheran on the dark, wintery, sacred night. It felt like a pilgrimage--one foot in front of the other on the icy sidewalks of Sisseton with freshly shoveled snow piled high on either side. I slipped my mittened hand into Dad's, holding tight to his huge leather glove. Mom pointed to the lights that decorated every neighbor's home and scolded my big brother (gently) for tossing snowballs at my little brother as we walked.
At church, we pushed our way through the crowd of people laughing and lingering in the church foyer toward our favorite pew, three rows back from the front on the right side. We squished close to make room for more and that was fine by me. When the Christmas Eve service started, I leaned my head against Dad's shoulder, closed my eyes and let his booming bass voice reverberate through my soul as he sang the low-part harmony on every Christmas hymn.
These are my long ago, already and not yet memories and truths of Christmas. Still, I know that this longing in my heart today isn't really about the past--it's more of an aching awareness that my home isn't actually a place at all. Home is a closeness. Home is a presence and a participation in something much bigger than I could have imagined as a child. Home is Christ. Christ is home.
The theme song for our Advent Bible Study ends with the phrase, "wherever You are, I am home." This rings true for me. Listen, and see if you find some truth here, too.
If you find yourself longing for home and wondering if you can find a way home this Christmas season, join our Advent Bible Study. We will meet together (via zoom) on Sunday evenings at 5:00 PM Sisseton Time (4:00 PM Mountain). During the week, you will be treated to poetry, artwork, stories and opportunities for conversation in the Fellowship Hall.
This study is open to everybody and free for everybody, because that's what home is all about, right? You can join as an individual, or perhaps you'd like to lead a group study at your church. This bible study will work well for family groups, WELCA communities, confirmation or high school youth groups, Sunday School or mid-week worship. There are additional resources available if you'd like to extend this theme into your worship experience. Let me know if you'd like to brainstorm some options.
Feel free to contact me by email (learningtogether@sdsynod.org) if you have any questions.
Rev. Kari Webb
Director for Digital Community and Learning, South Dakota Synod ELCA