How Does a Weary World Rejoice? From the Artist, Hannah Garrity

READ Luke 1:67-80

FROM THE ARTIST | Hannah Garrity

This painting engages the flow of Zechariah’s prophecy. I painted in oil on canvas; the copper leaf represents God’s healing love. Copper has qualities that interact with its surroundings. When coiled, it can harness electricity out of thin air. When used in body wrapping, it can support internal self-repair. When used in pots and pans, it disperses heat evenly. When used in the womb, it causes the blood to flow monthly. When used in piping, it allows clean water to flow.

Over the years, I have been drawn to taking away plastics in my artwork. It is not always possible because acrylic paint and PVC pipe are such accessible media. But the natural materials draw me in physically, emotionally. In my work, I return to copper to hold banners up, to build sculpture, to create motion, and to capture light in an installation. It is a natural material that is prevalent in buildings. You can buy it at your local hardware store.

Here, the copper represents aspects of discipleship. It represents the presence of God in our lives and our actions—the presence of God in Zechariah’s prophecy and in John’s life and work.

The image is inspired by waters meeting one another. This intersecting flow portrays Zechariah’s words meeting John the Baptist’s life. It is a crashing toward, a central meeting place, a potential energy meeting a kinetic being.

Holy Mother, your love is mighty—more powerful than all of the forces that act to barricade justice, to block righteousness. Guide us like you guided Zechariah in your ways of peace, in your strength of courage, in your acts of love. Amen.

Pray: Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image above. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Root Ourselves in Ritual: From the Artist

READ Luke 2:21-38

FROM THE ARTIST | Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity

I wonder what Mary and Joseph expect when they enter the temple to dedicate their newborn son. This customary ritual quickly unravels into an astonishing scene. A stranger named Simeon pronounces Jesus to be a “light” and “revelation,” and his dying wish is fulfilled. A prophet named Anna* also draws near to the child, praising God for the redemption he will bring.

Simeon and Anna’s words fill Mary and Joseph with amazement. But that can’t be the only emotion taking up space in the room. For Simeon turns to Mary, perhaps privately, to continue sharing his message: the boy will also become the cause of great turmoil, the catalyst for opposition. He will expose the inner thoughts of many. A sword will pierce her innermost being. The mother of God will grieve as she bears witness to the suffering of the child she birthed.

In this image, Simeon bestows his blessing and prophecy with the urgency of a man desperate to say everything that needs to be said before his time runs out. Anna looks off into the distance, as if peering into the future. Her devotion to God over the years has sharpened her gaze; she knows redemption when she sees it.

In the top left, I depicted Jesus’ hand being cradled by the hands of his parents. This tender moment is frozen in time, like a Polaroid photograph placed in a scrapbook. Mary and Joseph treasure their child as they receive the fullness of his calling. I imagine them memorizing each wrinkle and tiny fingernail, treasuring the smallness of a hand that will one day become a strong fist, fighting for justice for the oppressed and liberation for those held captive.

Pray: Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image above. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.  

* Note from the artist: To depict Anna, I referenced (with permission) a photo of my friend, Shani McIlwain, who seems to “never leave the temple” (Luke 2:37). She constantly pursues God, and it is holy to witness every opportunity she seeks. shanimcilwain.com

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Root Ourselves in Ritual: Commentary

READ Luke 2:21-38

COMMENTARY | Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong

In 2014, my father passed away and I was asked to deliver the eulogy. I was not sure what I would say or how I would express my own grief for the passing of such a great giant. He was surely one of those guys who just helped wherever he was needed. However, Dad did not just come and do things for you. He would show you how to do it yourself because he did not want to return and do the same task again. Dad was the epitome of the saying, “Give a person a fish and they will eat for a day. Teach a person to fish and they will never go hungry.” Dad believed in planting seeds that would germinate and grow in the very people who would be here long after he passed away. The joy of knowing Dad was what got me through preaching his eulogy.

The rituals of taking Jesus to the temple (naming the child “Jesus,” as the angel declared), and receiving the prophetic messages over Jesus’ life are all seeds that were planted according to God’s will. The joy of knowing that God planted the original seeds should give us reason to rejoice. In fact, this is where we can all grow when we root ourselves in ritual. Ritual is an act infused with meaning. Ritual is not always easy. Ritual is not always pleasant. In fact, ritual can be weary. Yet, the result of ritual usually produces something memorable, something relaxing, or something pleasant. If ritual is weary, there must be anticipated joy to follow.

Consider a planted seed. Ritualistically, it must be placed in dirt. For the seed, dirt can be a weary place. The Word of God buried in us may sometimes cause us to be in a weary place. The message from Simeon to Mary about Jesus might have come across as a weary message. Without a doubt, the encounter was memorable. The planted seed must receive nurture to burst through the dirt, pursuing the opportunity to bloom.

The Word of God buried in us may need to be nurtured so that we can bloom. Mary and Joseph followed the ritual of their culture and tradition and in doing so were granted lessons on how to parent Jesus. Without a doubt, the lessons received were comforting.

As we consider our own lives, how are we using rituals to bloom for God? When I reviewed my father’s life, I was able to recall memorable encounters. Some encounters were tough and hard to receive. Some encounters taught me lessons I will never forget. Some encounters were opportunities for blooming and shining in places that seem drab and weary. The experience of rituals, either good or bad ones or the ones that cause us to be weary, will allow us to rejoice.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Root Ourselves in Ritual

Muscle Memory

When the world falls apart around me,

when the rug is pulled,

and the house is on fire,

when all I can do

is swallow the cry in my throat,

take me to the table.

Tell me how people have fed each other.

Tell me how they’ve torn the bread

with wrinkled hands

and children’s hands.

Tell me how they’ve said, This love is for you,

as they looked you in the eye.

Then take me to the font.

Float my hands in the pool.

Let me feel weightless.

Tell me to leave my burdens there.

Then take me to the front doors.

Remind me how we throw them open.

Take me to the creaky pews,

pews that have held the straightened spines

and silent prayers of so many.

Take me to church.

Move me through the rituals.

Tell me why it matters,

so that next time,

when someone else’s world falls apart,

I will have the muscle memory to share.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Make Room

 

READ Luke 2:1-20

COMMENTARY | Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong

There is a famously-told Christmas story about a little boy who wanted to be Joseph in the Nativity play. He did not get the part of Joseph but did land the part of the innkeeper. He was disappointed. The night of the performance, he decided to change the story. The story, as told, caused Joseph to inquire about a place for him and Mary. The crowd anticipated that the innkeeper would say, “There is no room in the inn.” However, the little boy changed the story that night. He said, “Sure, I’ve got the best room in the inn. You may have mine.” This changed the whole story and caused everyone to laugh. When his parents got him home that night, they asked him why he changed the story. He told them what he learned as a Christian. Since no one knows the day nor the hour that the Son of God will return, then we ought to be ready to give God our best, lean not on our own understanding, and in all our ways trust God to direct our paths.

We make room. God makes room. The angels tell the shepherds, and they make room. There’s always room. There’s always more space. There’s always plenty of good room, just choose your seat and sit down. Where we find the lack of hospitality is where we find the lack of joy. The Rev. Dr. James Foster Reese once said at the 221st General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church (USA), “We are better together.” Although he has entered eternal rest with our Savior,* his words remain true. Joseph and Mary were given the opportunity to be together even in a space that declared no room. The shepherds went to Bethlehem to see this thing that had taken place, causing them to be together with the holy family. Not only did the shepherds come and witness this thing, but they also left telling everyone by glorifying and praising God, giving society a chance to be together.

Our task during this Christmas season is to make room in the same manner. We should acknowledge that the world is weary from grief, war, a pandemic, political strife, personal and corporate failings, and the list could continue. Although these weary acts take place, our rejoicing happens when we encounter life together. When we change the story as it might seem to be and make room for collective moments to rejoice. For no one knows the day nor the hour of the second Advent, so let’s not lean on our own understanding but in all our ways trust God to direct our paths—offering God our best by making room for others. The room we make will allow a weary world to rejoice.

Reflect: This Christmas, how are you making room? The room we make will allow a weary world to rejoice.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

*Learn more about Rev. Dr. James Foster Reese’s life and legacy here: presbyterianmission.org/story/october-14-2022

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Make Room

There is Room

The world may feel like one long stretch of night,

like an endless winter, or a hovering rain cloud.

And life may feel like walking into the wind,

an uphill climb in every direction,

but we can still open the door.

We can’t calm every storm,

but we can turn on the porch lights.

We can add chairs to the table.

We can keep clean sheets on the guest bed,

just in case.

We can hold the elevator,

and learn pronouns.

We can tell stories of belonging,

and take turns listening.

We can learn each other’s names,

and plant trees for our children.

We can study privilege

and advocate for mental health.

We can insist,

every single day,

in a million different ways:

there is room,

there is room,

there is room for you here.

We can’t calm every storm,

but we can turn on the porch lights.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Change

The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall feed; their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The sucking child shall play over the hold of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder's den. Isaiah 11:6-8 

This past Thanksgiving, I thought about all the changes I have seen around this holiday. The cooks have changed, the menu has changed, the people around the table have changed. The meeting place has changed.  An older generation has passed on and a new generation has begun. Yet despite all these changes, we have continued the practice of saying what we are thankful for and join in a prayer before the meal. We all enjoy the bounty of the food on the table and being with friends and families. Longstanding family traditions continue and memories are shared with love.  

I have thought recently about all the changes that Jesus and his disciples experienced. The disciples left their homes and families and their jobs to follow Jesus. They experienced miracles. Jesus from Galilee was seen not just a teacher and Rabbi, but a fulfillment of prophecy about the Messiah. He was not just a son of man, but the son of God. The religious leaders in the community could not tolerate the changes from the law where they held themselves over others. Jesus taught love and caring and promised the kingdom of heaven to those who believed in him.  

Change is hard. We are challenged by changes every day. Some are good, some are bad, and some challenge our very being. 

As we enter this time of Advent, let us ask God to help us with the changes around us and prepare ourselves for the wonderful changes brought into the world through the birth of our savior.  

Prayer: Heavenly Father, thank you for your Christmas gift to us all - your son, our savior - Jesus Christ. Thank you for the peace you give to us knowing your Holy Spirit lives within us and can guide and protect us. Be with us during this Advent time to welcome a baby that represents the hope of the nations. Amen. 

Nancy Hall

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Sing Stories of Hope: Commentary

READ Luke 1:46-55 | Luke 1:67-80

COMMENTARY | Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong

Have you ever really unpacked the lyrics of “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing” by James Weldon Johnson?4 This is a song of hope. It is a song that remembers the past, acknowledges current life, and prays for a future full of hope. The hope is for every person who has a voice and a means for singing; hence, the title is to lift every voice and sing. The lyrics insist that we let our rejoicing “rise high as the list’ning skies.” The lyrics insist that even when our feet are weary from the death of hope that is not even born yet, we are encouraged to stand. This song is a story of hope and reminds me of the very songs that were sung by Mary, Zechariah, and even Hannah of the Hebrew text.

Mary sings of a new world order based on past experiences with God. Her joy is found in remembering what the world has the potential to be based on the presence of God in all things. God has shown strength. God has scattered the proud. God has brought down the powerful. God has lifted the lowly. God has filled the hungry. God has helped those who have served God according to the promise made to Abraham. God has already done things that should allow a weary world to rejoice. Mary proclaims this in her song of hope and in the story of justice, joy, and a righteous peace.

Hannah’s song, found in 1 Samuel 2:1-10, is very similar to Mary’s Song and rightfully so. Mary knew Hebrew stories well and would have probably aligned her words based on the words she had buried in her heart. Hannah’s joy seemed to radiate from the victory in an answered prayer. The birth of her son, after being deemed barren, was a victory over the enemies who did not see God’s blessing on her life. Hannah sings a song of hope for current situations. Her reminder to us and the world is to let God be the rock on which we stand. Let God be the one who brings things to life.

Let God make poor and let God make rich; for only God can raise up the poor from the dust, the needy from the ash heap, to place them in places with royalty and to inherit seats of honor. God will be the one and only reason a weary world can rejoice.

Zechariah sings a song of hope for the future. His song ignites the thrill of hope that awaits us after a long silence. He bursts into thanksgiving for God’s favor. He acknowledges that God has something better for those who await the future. Zechariah speaks over the life of the one who will be the prophet of the Most High. Zechariah tells of the blessings for John and speaks into John’s task for the future. Here the song and story of hope encourages us to speak life over those who will replace us when we are no longer on the battlefield for our Lord.

Consider the third stanza of “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing” as a prayer. May this be how a weary world rejoices: “shadowed beneath God’s hand.”

Reflect: What songs do you sing when you need hope?

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How does a Weary World Rejoice? We Sing Stories of Hope: From the Artist

READ Luke 1:46-55

FROM THE ARTIST | Rev. Nicolette Peñaranda

Two years before the birth of Jesus, during the Pax Romana, one of the worst public executions happened a half day’s walk away from where Mary grew up.* She came of age during a time of occupation, more than likely unable to recall a time of true peace and liberation. Mary’s song rings of a dream that not only she but her ancestors dreamed of, and she would be the one to give birth to the savior of her people.

Fast forward thousands of years and the same land where Mary grew up is still being occupied. One can imagine that the cries for liberation and the prayers for justice still ring down the streets of Bethlehem. To me, Mary’s song of praise is still valid for the women of Palestine and for the people who still raise their children under the duress of war and occupation.

This image is a nod to Palestine. The background operates as a foundation, built with the colors of the Palestinian flag and with collaged scriptures that celebrate women. Elizabeth and Mary are both in Palestinian regalia but from different generations. Elizabeth, centered and holding her belly, is in an outfit inspired by a photograph of a woman from Ramallah, dated sometime between 1929-1946.** This was intended to emphasize the generational differences between the two. Mary, on the other hand, is in more contemporary Palestinian fashion. A stipple effect was used to highlight the intricacy of Palestinian embroidery in both garments.

What felt important to me is the placement of Mary and Elizabeth. Rarely does Elizabeth get to be the center of the story, as her pregnancy becomes an accompaniment piece to the birth of Jesus. But here, Elizabeth is in the foreground. She gets to be the star while Mary places her arms around her, comforting her, and proclaiming the good news of what is to come. Mary is the hope that we see in all youth.

Pray: Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image on the left. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

* For more context, read: “Birth of a Revolutionary: The Shaping of Jesus’ Politics,” in The Politics of Jesus, by Obery M. Hendricks, Jr. (New York: Three Leaves Press, 2006).

** “Ramallah woman,” photograph taken either by the American Colony Photo Department or the Matson Photo Service between 1929 and 1946. At the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division Washington, D.C. commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Ramallah_woman_15029v.jpg

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Sing Stories of Hope

The Sound of Hope

We’ve been singing a sad song

for quite some time,

the melody syncing with our heartbeats,

the lyrics stamped to the front of our minds.

You say, sad songs are honest.

It’s hard to disagree,

for sad songs tap us on the shoulder.

Sad songs remind us

of the 100 different corners

heartbreak could be behind.

But I don’t have it in me

to sing a sad song forever.

So despite the news,

despite the aches in my body,

despite the phone call last night

that says she’s waiting for the test results,

despite yesterday’s shooting,

despite the unknown and unchanged,

I am going to sing a song of hope.

Like a canary in a snowstorm,

I don’t need another song of what is;

I need a song of what could be.

So sing with me.

Our voices may get drowned out by the wind,

but surely someone will ask:

Was that a flash of yellow in the snow?

Was that the sound of hope?

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Isn't It Amazing? GLORIA ("Angels We Have Heard on High")

 

scan to hear the tune!

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? From the Artist #2

READ Luke 1:57-66

FROM THE ARTIST | Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity

When was the last time you were truly amazed? I don’t mean surprised; there is much about this world that should shock us. I mean amazed—wrapped up in wonder, absorbed in an unexpected delight.

I love witnessing the moments when my one-year-old daughter allows amazement to wash over her like a gentle rain: her jaw drops open, her eyes widen and stay fixed, and for a rare moment, she gets very still. This recently happened when she discovered the kids across the street playing basketball for the first time. Her senses have not yet grown dull to the magic surrounding her.

In this image, I wanted to capture the moment Zechariah’s voice returns to him. I decided to depict only half of Zechariah’s face; this miracle is not really about him, but about what happens through him. When he confirms John’s name, he sheds his distrust of the angel’s impossible news. His skepticism and weariness subside as he awakens to the joy in his midst. He allows himself to be amazed.

Zechariah’s voice pours out of him, parting the surrounding crowd like the Red Sea, stirring each person into confusion and bewilderment. The blessing of his song spills over to his son, who is held tenderly by his mother.

Elizabeth is the only person in this scene who is not presently swept up in wonder. I believe Elizabeth has spent months allowing herself to be amazed. She was in isolation for the first five months of her pregnancy (Luke 1:24). Perhaps she needed that time to go inward—to heal from the trauma of her infertility, to trust the promise of life in her womb, to attune herself to her child. She was capsized with awe the day Mary showed up at her doorstep.

And so, when Zechariah’s voice returns, Elizabeth’s senses have not grown dull. Instead, her amazement has metabolized into something new: attunement for her child. It has transformed into love and deep trust. It has turned into joy. When we allow ourselves to be amazed, we might be surprised what that wonder can turn into.

Pray: Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image above. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? From the Artist

READ Psalm 126

FROM THE ARTIST | Hannah Garrity

This painting is a meditation on the holy watercourses of the Negeb and all of the metaphors within that image. I painted with oil paint, charcoal, and copper leaf on canvas; the copper represents joy in our weary world.

For God, we are weary and we see no end to the weariness. Lament with us. Holy One, you are steadfast in your love like the watercourses of the Negeb. In your name, we call out evil. When we do, we are glimmers of hope. By your example, we act in the ways of Jesus. When we do, we are shimmers of joy. We often fall short; forgive us. We strive on, for when we succeed, your new heaven shines through. Strive with us.

Mother God, in this time of ascending fear, how do we stay aware of the needs of the world, active toward the renewal of your people, and focused on the specifics that are in your control through your call to us? Keep awake with us.

Adonai, it is in your name that we give ourselves time to lament. With you, we cry together. When our ancestors emerged from exile, by the rivers of Babylon, we sat down, and there we wept when we remembered Zion. Cry with us.

Holy Wisdom, we allow ourselves to be amazed, to dream, to lean into your call to garner your gifts the way raindrops become creeks and creeks become coursing rivers. We challenge ourselves to see the glimmers of hope in the murky waters of our current time. We beg you for clarity. We must flow on in endless song. How can we keep from singing? Perhaps our tears and our songs are one. Sing with us.

Holy Word, may our actions match your call, your claim on our lives. May we come together in our lament to sow the change your justice calls forth. Sow with us, that our next generation may reap our tears with shouts of joy. Amen.

Pray: Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image above. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Allow Ourselves to Be Amazed

 

All the Way to Joy

We could play hard and fast,

not let anything touch us at all,

keep composure,

have all the answers.

Or we could crack ourselves open

and let everything in.

We could feel everything,

every touch, every marvel.

We could stand gaping

at the beauty of the world,

mouths wide open (because sometimes

a mouth wide open is the very best gratitude).

We could laugh so loudly

that the whole restaurant looks,

and err on the side of goofy

whenever possible.

We could put our defenses down.

We could grow soft.

We could choose awe.

We could take her by the arm.

We could let her lead us all the way to joy.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How Does a Weary World Rejoice? We Allow Ourselves to Be Amazed

READ Luke 1:57-66 | Psalm 126

COMMENTARY | Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong

“Surprise, Surprise, Surprise” was the title of a sermon that I had written but did not save on my computer. As the service began, fear was the prominent emotion because surely, I had no idea what was about to take place. The other program participants were also bewildered and were on the edge of their seats awaiting the outcome. Fast forward through the angst of the evening; things worked out just fine. “Surprise, Surprise, Surprise” was just that—a surprise! I am not sure if amazement is a precursor for joy and praise, but when it was all over, upon my lips was joy and praise for a seemingly successful night.

There was great rejoicing with Elizabeth after the birth of her son; however, there seemed to be a pause in the praise when the name of the child did not align with the traditions of the day. Surprise, surprise, surprise. Failing to believe Elizabeth (I guess we haven’t trusted women for a while now), the gathered crowd motioned for Zechariah to name the child and they were surprised that his selection was the same as Elizabeth’s. In this moment, the crowd was amazed, Zechariah was freed to speak, and praise was the order of the day. Fear came over the neighbors and the rumor mill went wild. Surely the hand of the Lord would be on this child, John.

When we are amazed, we tend to share the news, either seeking validation that it is shocking news or to witness the shock factor the news has on others. Try it. If you were told you would receive $1,000 for reading this commentary, what would your second reaction be? Your first reaction would be amazement, wondering if it is true. Your second reaction would be to tell someone else, either to get them to believe you or to see if they are just as shocked as you were when you received the news. Either way, rejoicing is found in the laughter that just took place.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How Does a Weary World Rejoice: We Find Joy in Connection (From the Artist#2)

READ Isaiah 40:1-11

FROM THE ARTIST | Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman

I wanted to create an image that spoke tenderly to the viewer as this text does to the reader. “Comfort, O comfort my people” (Isaiah 40:1). When I’ve read this text before, the shepherding metaphor has only yielded masculine imagery in my mind. It makes sense with the text’s pronouns that I would imagine a masculine figure. It was also ingrained in me— through translations, biblical art, movies, children’s pageants, etc.—that shepherds were always men. I learned recently, however, that women were shepherds too. Some young women were trained and worked as shepherds before they were married; this notion completely added new dimension and depth to the shepherding metaphor. I decided to use imagery of modern-day shepherds to inspire this image. A shepherd is at once fierce and tender, willing to face the most dangerous of predators in the dead of night while warmly cradling the most vulnerable of the flock.

In this image, the shepherd nurtures a lamb while leading the flock through fields of tall grasses and flowers. The fuschia flowers in the foreground are marjoram flowers that represent comfort and the steadfastness of God’s word even in the midst of the leveling of the land. The shepherd’s clothes have repeated medallions with simplified imagery of a straight highway in the wilderness. Within the stylized landscape, a voice proclaims the coming glory of the Lord.

Pray: Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image above. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

How Does a Weary World Rejoice: We Find Joy in Connection (From the Artist)

 

READ Luke 1:24-45

FROM THE ARTIST | Rev. Nicolette Peñaranda

A couple of months before I took on this project, I was forced into early labor and birthed our second child. Needless to say, I was still pretty raw with emotions and was processing the trauma. During that time, I found myself in isolation. Our days were spent driving back and forth to the NICU to check on our 3 lb. infant. It was terrifying and tiresome. But during that time, so many wonderful people sought us out. We were gifted food, baby clothes, childcare, and rest. But the greatest gift was the comfort I received from other people who had given birth. There was this sacred sharing of birth stories and postpartum depression. Parents passed on beautiful garments that they, too, received after birthing a preemie. Some of these pieces looked like they had been passed down many times before, like each thread held a memory from a different family. We were connected.

It is because of this connection that parents share that I felt instantly connected to paying homage to Frida Kahlo’s Two Fridas.* Rather than being connected from veins of the heart, Mary and Elizabeth would be connected through the uterus.

Nearly a quarter of Black women between ages 18 and 30 have fibroids while also being the racial demographic with the highest maternal death rate in the United States. More than 100,000 women undergo some form of mastectomy each year. Globally, an estimated 14% of girls give birth before the age of 18. Where do these realities meet the heart of scripture? How do we see the struggles of infertility or empathize with the vulnerability that comes with not being a socially-accepted pregnant person?

While Elizabeth is crowned with holy gray hair and a dress marked with the blood of previous miscarriages, Mary sits next to her holding a childhood doll, draped in the jewelry, flowers, and silks of a traditional Middle Eastern Jewish bride. Their stories and experiences are vastly different. But Mary sought out her kin. This reminds me that we do not need to do the hard things alone. There is power in connection. With you, there is joy.

Pray: Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image above. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.

*Two Fridas (Frida Kahlo, 1939) is considered to be a self-portrait in which one Frida is wearing European clothes and the other is in a traditional Mexican dress. The two women are connected by their anatomical hearts.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

A Weary World Rejoices: We Find Joy in Connection

READ Luke 1:24-45 | Isaiah 40:1-11

COMMENTARY | Rev. Cecelia D. Armstrong

When we are weary, we find it hard to express joy. When we are weary, we might find it hard to share space with others because our weariness has seemingly stolen our joy. However, is it even possible to be joy-filled by yourself? Sure, there are things we can do that will bring us joy, but what external joy is possible without others to acknowledge it? Could it be that internal joy can only be actualized in external connections? Shared joy is one way that a weary world can rejoice.

We find Elizabeth alone for five months. There is no indication in the text that explains her isolation, but speculation offers that her isolation was due to the same reasons Zechariah was silenced. Elizabeth probably had questions. Can we speculate what those questions might have been? “Does the Lord know how old I am?” “We have been wanting children for a while and NOW we are pregnant?” “The shame of being barren has caused me to be weary, so how am I supposed to rejoice with this?” We don’t hear her questions, but we hear her resolve in verse 25: “This is what the Lord has done for me when he looked favorably on me and took away the disgrace I have endured among my people.”

We are not sure about Mary’s travels. Mary sets out with haste to enter the house of Zechariah and greet Elizabeth. (Zechariah probably didn’t say a word.) We don’t know if she traveled alone, but we do know she went on a mission to get clarity about her own encounter with Gabriel. Creative thinking suggests that Mary did all of this on her own, in isolation, by herself, with no one to help, hurt, or hinder her mission. We don’t hear her questions either. We hear her question Gabriel wondering how this can be, since she is a virgin, but we don’t hear her internal dialogue during her travels.

Reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

We Acknowledge Our Weariness: From the Artist

 

READ Luke 1:1-23

FROM THE ARTIST | Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman

Zechariah is dressed in a breastpiece, ephod, robe, checkered tunic, turban, and sash, just as the book of Exodus specifies. In my painting, gold, blue, purple, and crimson yarns are woven together and bejeweled with engraved stones which bear the names of the sons of Israel (Exodus 28:4).

Zechariah stands in the Holy Place wearing the most meticulous of garments. Does he expect to encounter the divine? Or is he just going through the motions, lighting the incense as an all-too-familiar scent fills the air?

After all these years of fulfilling priestly duties and “living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord” (Luke 1:6), Zechariah and his wife are still childless. Regardless of their desire for children, in their culture and context, childlessness bore the implication of God’s contempt.

I ruminated on this image… a weary priest wrapped in layered fabrics, colors, symbols, textures, and rare stones that proclaim God’s providence and power. The contrast is not lost on me.

I often try to neglect my weariness by putting on a veneer of unwavering trust in God—while feeling like I may suddenly unravel into a pile of beautifully-curated threads, stones, and gold accessories.

In this image, I decided to depict the angel as smoke from the altar of incense. Zechariah has one hand over his mouth in fear and disbelief, while his other hand cradles the notion—not yet hope—of his son’s existence.

Do you bind up your weariness in a neat and tidy bow, put your head down, and project okay-ness like me? What would it look like to acknowledge our weariness, quit powering through, and open ourselves up to what God might have in store for us? Perhaps we’ll meet an angel.

PRAY: Breathe deeply as you gaze upon the image above. Imagine placing yourself in this scene. What do you see? How do you feel? Get quiet and still, offering a silent or spoken prayer to God.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

Wade In

Over time

wind and water

will sand down the edges of a stone.

For humans,

our wind and water

is the grief of the world.

Stay here long enough

and pieces of you

will be pressed upon

by life’s never-ending stream.

It’s enough to make you weary.

It’s enough to make you question.

It’s enough to make you quiet.

And yet, the stream continues.

So do not be afraid to stand in that water.

Wade in. Soak the hem of your jeans.

Drip wet footprints through every room in your house.

Let the water stains tell your story.

And when your body grows weary of swimming,

name the stream.

Acknowledge your weariness.

For eventually,

you will pick flowers from

the opposite bank.

And over and over again, we’ll tell this story.

And over and over again,

a weary world will rejoice.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

Reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art

We Acknowledge Our Weariness

Read Luke 1:1-23/Psalm 80: 1-7, 17-19

Commentary by Rev. Cecilia D. Armstrong

We can be weary in various ways. We can be weary because of our age. We can be weary because of our waiting. We can be weary because we have faced the same routine for years and seemingly watched nothing change. We can be weary for various reasons, but must we stay weary? Can we exchange our weariness for hope? Is there a way to experience weariness and insist on the blessed hope that is to come?

Zechariah's question to Gabriel is directly aligned with this question of weariness and expectation of hope. In verse 18, Zechariah asks, "How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years." When we are weary, we tend to seek clarity instead of insisting on God's grace to provide for us during the weariness. As a result, Zechariah is kept silent or muted. When Zechariah is before the people who were wondering about his delay in the temple, they realize that he had seen a vision. What we notice in the text is that the crowd, having witnessed his inability to speak, does not speak on the issue either. Although no words are exchanged, it seems that weariness has fueled the inability to believe or has offered us an opportunity to lose hope.

In the psalm text we hear the cry for restoration. This is a cry for restoration since our weariness has shaken our hope. The request in prayer form is to restore us, to let God's face shine, and the outcome will be that we may be saved. This request is made three times in our selected text. A great professor once taught that if something appears three times in the sacred text, then it must be important. Restoration is important because amid weariness, there must be a light at the end of the tunnel. There must be a way to combat the weariness of the current times. There must be a glimpse of hope that helps to sustain us during the weary times and grants us the opportunity to rejoice.

There is a famous poem by Lanston Hughes titled, "Mother to Son." It was written in 1922 and appeared again in print in 1926 in Hughes's first book, The Weary Blues. The poem depicts the heaviness of living life as a Black person who faces the many obstacles and dangers that accompany racism in American society. What offers hope during the weariness is the encouragement to not turn back, to not sit down on the steps, and to keep climbin'. This seems to be the encouragement we can find in Zechariah and Elizabeth's story. While silent, don't turn back, but look ahead since restoration is coming.

reprinted with permission from A Sanctified Art