A Prayer for a New Year [Advent 1C - 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13]

 The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

 

A Prayer for a New Year

 

This is my planner.  It is brand new.  The cover is not yet worn or dirtied.  It has not yet been mangled by the assorted contents of my backpack, the place it will spend much of this next year.  There currently is not a single mark on its pages.  Nothing has been crossed out or checked off.  It will never again be quite as pristine as it is this morning. 

 

This planner is a little different from the planners one might find at Staples or Target because this planner begins with today, November 28, the first Sunday of Advent.  You see, it is the Episcopal Liturgical Appointment Calendar.  It is decorated with Bible verses and tiny little candles mark the feasts of the Church.

 

Even though, like probably many of you, I trust my phone to keep my appointments, to vibrate in my pocket 15 minutes before each meeting or counseling session, I still use my planner to list, and scratch off, tasks.  At the beginning of each new week, I write a new list, a list of the things I need, or at least would like, to accomplish.  I surround that list with other reminders, pastoral concerns, little notes scratched so messily I find them almost impossible to read, and doodles that will later be celebrated by my youngest son.

 

This planner is on a one-year contract.  Its usefulness will expire with this Church year.  But I won’t throw it away.  I keep my old planners – each one telling the story of a year of my ordained life – like a journal without narrative.  This one will, one day, tell the story of this Church year, the year that begins today.

 

But for now, it is empty.  Or rather, perhaps, it is full of only potential.  Who knows what exactly will fill these blank pages?

 

Last year, we marked the start of the Church calendar, and of the season of Advent, on the lawn.  And as we lit the first candle, even as COVID numbers soared throughout nation, things felt promising. We were planning a Christmas like no other.  We were optimistic about the vaccines and the end of the pandemic and about our return to indoor worship.  If you would have asked me then, and maybe you did, I would have predicted a very, what we might call, “normal” Advent and Christmas 2021.  But while we are inside, the pandemic continues, and things are not yet “normal.”  I think it is fair to say that not everything went exactly as planned during the past Church year.  Maybe, at times, our optimism was a touch too optimistic. 

 

But while not everything was what we wanted or even what we expected, all that happened has led us to this sacred moment.  And has helped shape us into the people we are today, into the community we are today, at the dawning of this new year.  Sometimes the blessings that we want pale in comparison to the blessings that we receive.  And we are reminded that God walks with us, even in the most shadowed of valleys.

 

The scripture lessons that mark this first Sunday of the year astound us with apocalyptic drama and prophetic prognostication.  But I found myself drawn, not to the roaring of the sea or shaking of the heavens, but instead to the simple pastoral prayer Paul offers to God for the church in Thessalonica.   

 

There is something about a simple prayer in a chaotic world that feels as defiant as a delicate flower in the midst of a whirlwind.  Prayer is the love that wraps around us as we venture forth into the unknown, that steels us against the uncertainty of the future.  And so, as we venture into this new year together, I don’t have for you resolutions or expectations or predictions; life has proved the futility of such things.  Instead, at the dawning of this year, while the pages are still blank and the future stretched out before us like a flawless fair linen, I offer just this prayer: my prayer for you, for us, as we begin this new year together.

 

I pray that you will be healthy and happy; but I know this world can be quite unpredictable, and so more than that, I pray you will be courageous and joyful.

 

I pray that you will find peace in these anxious times and that that peace will take up residence in the very core of your being.

 

I pray that you will be swift to love and make haste to be kind.

 

I pray that you will provoke, and be provoked by, your siblings in Christ to live generously and invest in those things that will make this world more like the Kingdom of God.

 

I pray that your gentleness will be a disarming witness in a violent age.

 

I pray that you will see glimpses of beauty even in those moments when the ugliness of this world appears overwhelming.

 

I pray that you will beat back the creeping forces of despair with every ounce of stubborn hope you can muster.

 

I pray that you might be able to turn down the all those blaring voices competing for your allegiance and instead be guided by the still, small voice of the Holy Spirit.

 

I pray that you will fall more and more in love with the Holy Scriptures – even as they challenge you, even when they wrestle you to the ground.

 

I pray that you will be shaped by our worship; that our prayers will become your language; that our Communion will be your strength; and that the dismissal you hear each Sunday will be a charge that sends you out to change the world in Jesus’ name.

 

I pray that this community will inspire you, empower you, and equip you to live out the ministry to which you were called in your baptism.

 

I pray that as we begin our seventh year of ministry together, me and you, we will continue to trust each other more deeply and love each other more perfectly.

 

I pray, with the Apostle, that God will strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless, though not perfect, because I like how your quirks make this church interesting.

 

I pray that God will make you increase and abound in love for one another and for all because love is the most powerful, redemptive, and transformative force in the universe.

 

And I pray, in this Advent season, and even after the blue vestments are returned to the closet, that you will remember to search the skies for the coming of Christ.  And never stop believing that Jesus is, even now, making justice and peace the future of our world.  Never stop believing that on earth as it is in heaven is possible, and dream worth investing your life in. 

 

I’m not sure what this year has in store for us.  But we will fill the pages and write the story of this Church year together.  If Grace and St. Stephen’s is to become whatever God is calling us to be this year, each one of us must do our part.  And in doing so we will be reminded once again that salvation is a group project.  And that we were never meant to be alone, but we were made to face the days, whatever they may hold, together.