Hannah Dreblow - 1 Cor. 10:31, Col. 3:17- For the Glory of God

Be who God created, only.

Knowing who I am and who who I am not.

Do everything the very best way I know how,

Working hard.

By this I give God glory.

And rest well.

Advent 4 - Tim Knipp Luke 2

Who am I? Advent: Light to the Nations series - Christian Lindbeck (Luke 1;3;15)

Numbing noise,
lights,
flashing and 
inconsequential,
pointing at 
anything 
and nothing.
Holy whispers
drowned
in fa-la-la's
and
ho-ho-ho's.

Culture seems 
coordinated to
keep us from
pondering
who we are
and
why we are -
telling us 
our most important
identity is
consumer
of goods.

Find a quiet place.
Shut the door.
And listen.

John, the desert 
rock star,
knew who he was
and why.
Born to parents,
prepared through postponement;
patient
and prayerful.
His father's response to his
nascent birth
sprinkled prophecies
and promises
foreign as green smoke
curling and tumbling
from astonished lips.

The long-awaited child
learned obedience,
Torah
and Hebraic stories;
rocked to sleep
with lullabies of lions
and lordly lambs,
he grew.

In manhood, 
his earthy charisma
gathered crowds
ready to idolize
but John said,
"Wait!
I am not he."

"Then who are you?"
the deflated ones
cried,
and fired off a 
series of possible
roles for this
obvious gift
from God.

"I am not"s 
dropped like 
stones in a well,
echoing and 
plummeting
down
to a far off
splash
of incomprehension.

"Then who are you?"

Again.

I am the finger,
pointing.
The arrow drawn,
the road sign
illuminated
to point the way.

Born for this,
and this alone,
he shunned fame
and adulation,
knowing 
both were two sizes
too large.

And when Christ
appeared,
he served as His
emcee
and bowed off
center stage.

When followers 
fell away,
he flinched not,
but cheered
from the wings.

He knew his calling
and clung to his role
with tenacity
worthy of the lowly
barnacle.
Set free from abundant choices,
his narrowed vision
allowed scalpel-like
precision.

Can I do the same?
Accept who and what I am
without comparison,
envy, or what ifs?
No facades or 
impossible standards
to strive for;
the narrow door
the way to 
a larger life?

Let me find a quiet place
to hear Your voice.
Let me accept who and
where I am with grace.
And help me let go
of all that I am not,
quieting the cacophony
of false prophets
who would make me
dance to some 
other tune,
not of Your 
composing. 
Help me hear
Your holy whispers
and know peace
in the present.

Exquisite Dawn: Advent : Light to the Nations - Tim Knipp (Isa. 8 and 9)

Backs turned to light,
walking in shadows
cast by their own stubbornness,
they slowly starve
to skeletal
caricatures.

When we scavenge
for life-giving nutrients
among the stagnant pools 
existing outside of God's light -
in body lust;
in vain adulation
and superficial social reputations -
rage, voiced or mutely expressed,
scars our thin-skinned souls
like razor-wire.

Our world is bombarded
with twisted shards 
of broken mirrors
reflecting rebellious frisson
as they fall
to slice and 
impale.

Yet, in the distance
arises an exquisite dawn,
joy will blossom
in frozen hearts,
melting chains,
swords and implements 
of destruction,
to be re-crafted
as vehicles of justice.

A child is birthed
in sweat and blood;
a one-of-a-kind King
whose kingdom will bring
balance to a world
off-kilter.
He will reign through
space and time,
unlimited by any restraints.
We will call Him
Amazing Friend,
Indisputable Sovereign,
Abba Father,
His Highness 
of Harmony.

Hope in human form,
shaped as we are
yet more than us -
the missing puzzle piece
in perfect dimensions
to fill the gaping hole
torn in the fabric
of our world.
Perfect goodness personified,
He whom we have yearned for
is among us now in spirit
and will return one day
in the flesh
to eradicate injustice,
obliterate the oppressors
and set free
those who languish
in dark and pestilential 
prisons,
both seen
and unseen.

Rejoice!
Rejoice!
 
 

Advent - Christian Lindbeck Isaiah 11:1-9

Burn, Redemptive Flame (Isaiah: Light to the Nations) - Tim Knipp (Isa. 5:18-21; 6:5)

A tapestry of travesties
woven of wayward threads;
a deeply disappointed 
Father mourns the loss -
the severing of bonds,
the sickening snarl of sins
His children wallow in.

Carts loaded with rotting piles
of overripe lies and selfish deeds,
amassed debts to wrongs unaddressed,
greed rationalized
and putrid appetites.
Dragging our groaning loads,
we challenge God
to prove His
worth.

Double-edged words drip
from slack lips,
stab for weakness
and divvy up Truth
to serve it with a slab
of jellied lies.
We gobble it all down
indiscriminately.
Words unworthily shared
or miserly withheld
serve no one.
Words obfuscate and rattle
when they can be jewels
shimmering with
reflected brilliance.

Arrogance is an ugly scar
on an otherwise
beautiful face.
Closed ears
and closed hearts
refuse the possibility
of error
or a better plan.
In "us" we trust,
thank you very much.

It is I who am flawed
as well -
no better than any of us.
I am carting my own load of trash,
cursing words stain my tongue
and I wear oversized confidence
like camouflage fatigues. 
  
So I kneel before
the Father,
knowing my unworthiness,
my shame;
and He touches 
my lips
with redemptive
holy 
flames.

It All Belongs to Him; Isaiah - Light of the Nations: Tim Knipp (Lev. 25:8,14,23; Isa. 5:8; Luke 12:20a)

Return again
to where it began -
the land belongs
to God.
His plan is good,
to care for all -
the land belongs
to Him.
Ask not what the world
can do for you -
ask what you can 
give for the world.

We accumulate things -
stacks upon stacks -
stealing from the desolate,
raping the land.
Woe to us.
We will smother in things,
they will drain our blood,
cold winds will whistle
through barren stubs
and His land
will groan 
and quake.

Endless consumption
depletes His bounty;
blind allegiance to 
"bigger is better"
topples nations,
leaving the vulnerable
to wither
and beg.
These, these,
the least of these
are those His heart
bleeds for.

Woe to us
when we shut our eyes,
grabbing wildly
for more and
one more.

His economy is just -
we do not deserve it all,
or even "enough" 
when others
far weaker
have less than 
enough.

As I peer into
the storehouse of my heart
I see dust collecting
on useless things,
seemingly substantial
but devoid of life.
I glance down
and see my fists,
knuckles white,
turned inward
and
clenched.

Open my hands,
digit by digit -
help me let go
of all that glitters.
Let it fall through 
my fingers
as I lift them
in service to You
and those
You love. 

Remind me again,
again and again -
it all belongs
to You.

Sing me a Song; Isaiah: Light of Nations series - Lynn Gill (Isa. 5:1-7)

My people... a light to the nations

Sing me a song
of things that I know-
of fertile earth
cleared lovingly 
with strained sinews
of toil.
Sing of vines planted
and tended,
a harvest protected
and expected;
a song that I know.

But a sour note chimes
when the harvest reeks
and the farmer's tears
dampen 
traitorous soil.

Sing of the farmer's
anger then;
he will tear down
the vineyard,
lay waste the stalks,
and make it
a barren wasteland
in his ire.

Our God is the farmer
who looked for a crop
of justice
and mercy but
saw brutality;
who called for a song
of justice and peace,
but heard only 
the cries of those
who bleed.

Listen to the song
of our God
as He warns us of
what's to come,
lamenting and
storming,
His heart shattered
when we run shallow
or turn away
from His care
to engage
in what only
consumes us.

Sing a song 
of a fruitful vine,
gnarled with age
and pruned just so;
rooted in His 
sturdy Truth.

Sing to me
when I close my ears,
when my heart is
encrusted with stone.
Sing truth,
sing hope,
sing rebuke,
sing love;
sing God's holy
and severest
grace.

Holy Love, Isaiah: Light of the Nations - Tim Knipp

All will be blessed
through you.
Through you and
your seed
will all be blessed.
All and each - through you
all earth's
people

will be blessed,
blessed,
blessed.

Such is the heartbeat
of our God.
We hear it again
and again,
through Joseph,
Ruth,
David
and Solomon.

He says,
Look to the future
I have planned:
I will be exalted
above the earth
and all peoples
will be drawn
to Me.
Every tribe
and nation
will live together
in harmony
and justice -
centered around
my pulsing
heart
of holy love.

Holy love
seeks out wickedness,
insists on holiness -
severely roots out
festering angers
and deformed
egos
in order to bless.

On the cross
Christ spread his arms
to reveal
My love for all peoples,
drawing them,
calling to them,
to you,
so that all might
receive the 
promised 
blessing:
My holy love.

Gen. 12:3;22:18;26:4;28:14; Isa. 2:1-5; John 12:20-21

Return to Me - Isaiah: Light to the Nations - Christian Lindbeck (Isa. 1:2-28)

Fierce grief expressed
resolutely
to an errant child.

Out of true, 
we shudder and shimmy,
struggling to stay afloat
yet denying our duplicity
with hypocritical 
leers.

The Father grieves
and steams -
"my people"
"my children"
"my beloved"
have betrayed Me.
You have embraced
your darker natures
and stubbornly
resisted all 
my love
and discipline.
What more can
I do?

I see destruction
and desolation
awaiting you.
Underneath your shiny veneer
is rotten wood,
riddled with honeycomb -
you will shatter
at the merest breath.
Your phony ceremonies
will not save you -
you go through the motions
while treasuring
obscenities
in your heart.
It's revolting!

How far you have come
from the joyful
and pure hearts
that shone like diamonds
to entice the
nations.

Turn!
Turn from your hell-bent ways!

If you come back to Me,
we will begin anew -
your wickedness
will be obliterated,
though saturated with blood,
your hands will be washed
and sanitized,
completely clean.

But,
if you will not,
it will be to your own destruction.
I raised you to be honest
and you have lied,
to show tenderness
and compassion,
but you have ravaged
and trampled
the vulnerable.

Hear me call to you
again and again
even as you spit
on My name
and find your hope
in things.
When the shallow air
you breathe
chokes you,
when wealth trickles
to dust and fails
to comfort,
come back,
come back.

I will always,
always
love you.

Invite - Christian Lindbeck

Hope Rises - Christian Lindbeck (Matt. 5:14-16; Acts 2)

Taking soundings 
of our surroundings
is wisdom.
Awareness of the direction
our shadow falls
lends specificity
and 
orientation.

Hope chirrups from the bushes,
hinting at
an invitation
to follow
the leaf-strewn path.
Hope welcomes
and whispers,
seeks out
and 
cherishes the unlovely.
Hope is a glimpse,
a glimmer
of possibility;
a light penetrating
through dark brambles,
a previous prison.

Hope is a minuscule seed
buried in the tomb
of earth,
pregnant with potential.

Just imagine
the hope that spawns hope -
just imagine
the dreams
that can become actual
and transform lives.

Earth's naval
is an eddy, 
spinning God's-breath
vortexes,
ever-widening circles
of power
flows to enliven
a dead sea,
resurrecting
and restoring all
it touches.
Come.
Drink freely.

And each who drinks,
from each will flow
life-giving liquid,
precious drops
of sparkling hope,
glistening tiaras,
chandelier mirrors
multiplying
dancing flickers
like sparks
dotting
and igniting
the night 
sky.

First the Good News, now This - Tim Knipp (Matt. 6, 11, 13)

"Are you He?
Tell me please - "
Healer, helper,
tender teacher,
spotlit traveler
through a world
of grief.
Are You the answer
and if so, why
do questions 
persist like
carrion flies?

Take a tiny seed and sow it -
in time it becomes a tree;
grains of yeast hidden,
will raise dough to 
overflow
the bowl.

Ages overlap,
like tectonic plates,
shifting,
shaking,
lifting and rumbling
to break and change
the landscape.
Your Kingdom come
in this place and time:
melting hearts like 
lava oozing
from stone,
shake and shiver
souls 
to unite islands,
let continents collide
and coalesce.

Seek it and we will 
see it,
breathe it in 
and it will penetrate
our pores,
animate our limbs
and infect
our finances.

Your Kingdom come
here and now
amid these smelly
ruins;
dip your rags
in our blood and 
bandage our 
splintered hearts;
plant hope again,
in the deep 
and the 
dark.