Tuesday | Homesick (Hope)

Read: Luke 21:25-36
From the Artist: Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity

It is peculiar that we begin Advent with adult Jesus offering us a prophecy and parable filled with fear and mystery. This particular scripture is within a longer section of Jesus describing the coming destruction of the temple, a public statement that no doubt added to the conspiracies and plots stirring against him. The fate he speaks of is filled with terrifying details: the temple demolished, false prophets, wars and uprisings, food shortages, natural disasters, persecution, and epidemics (Luke 21:5-24). As we read these words now, this litany of fear and foreboding feels far too familiar—a bit too close to home.

When I began this series of visuals, I printed an architectural blueprint on a large piece of cardstock. Using acrylic paint, I added fluid strokes of blue, obscuring the white lines in the blueprint so that the plans for building a home would appear present but also blurred and concealed. I added hints of gold leaf, trying to emulate the texture of paint peeling from the exterior of a building. I then shifted to digital media, photographing the painting from a number of angles and then drawing figures and details into my compositions with my stylus and iPad.

As I began this particular image, I imagined a scene of chaos and apocalypse. However, as I drew a woman lifting her head and reaching for the fig tree, I began to see a vision of beauty and hope, a glimpse of one’s whole being awake to wonder.

I think we all share a collective homesickness. It feels like nostalgia. It looks like the trauma hiding in our past. It can turn into foreboding fear that robs us of real joy. But in this image and in Jesus’ words, I see a call to resilience despite the difficult realities that confront us. I see a longing so deep that it keeps us reaching—for a home restored, for comfort renewed, for the fruit that is sure to come.

Prayer

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.

From Close to Home: Advent Devotional. Copyright © 2021 | A Sanctified Art LLC | All Rights Reserved.

Monday | Homesick (Hope)

Read: Luke 21:25-36
Commentary: Elder Vilmarie Cintrón-Olivieri

“...Mi corazón se quedó frente al mar en mi Viejo San Juan…”

The famous Puerto Rican song, “En mi Viejo San Juan”¹ has described the sentiments of many in the Puerto Rican diaspora. The song, written in 1943 by Noel Estrada for his brother stationed in Panamá, recounts memories of life in San Juan and the long-awaited return: “My heart remained at the seafront in Old San Juan.” Listening to this song sometimes makes me a little homesick, but, most of the time, it evokes warm, nostalgic feelings and brings forth memories of the cobblestone streets and blue seas of my hometown.

When hurricane María hit Puerto Rico in 2017, the news footage of the massive category 4 storm contrasted with the lovely memories of the island. The words of the song resonated; my heart was, indeed, at the seafront in Old San Juan. The storm passed, and we anxiously awaited news from our families on the island. Homesickness crept in as we were far away from loved ones and wished to be close to them in the moment of need. Days later, el silencio de la espera2 was finally broken by the buzz of a text message: “Estamos bien” (“We’re OK”). Those two words were hope in the midst of chaos. Those words were home.

Images of distress, confusion, and fear emerge in Luke 21. In many ways, the feelings that these words evoke mirror the past almost two years of pandemic crisis—a world in turmoil suffering from disasters, both natural and human-made—speaking to the realities and injustices of a chaotic world. Thankfully, Jesus enters this world offering words, not of foreboding, but of hope to a homesick people that felt far away from God and longed to be close to kin in the middle of the crisis. “Stand up and raise your heads,” Jesus said, “because your redemption is near...So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near” (v. 28-31). Even in el silencio de la espera, we are reassured that God’s kin-dom is near. Kin-dom, in Ada María Isasi-Díaz’s definition, is “interconnected community, seeing God’s movement emerge from la familia, the family God makes.”³ God is close. These are words of hope for a homesick world. These words are home.

1. Listen to “En mi Viejo San Juan” sung by composer Noel Estrada here: youtube.com/watch?v=VFf7Oz80Xx4.
2. “The silence of the wait.”
3. Ada María Isasi-Díaz quoted in “The Kin-dom of Christ” by Melissa Florer-Bixler. Sojourners. Nov. 20, 2018. sojo.net/articles/kin-dom-christ.

From Close to Home: Advent Devotional. Copyright © 2021 | A Sanctified Art LLC | All Rights Reserved.

Sunday | Homesick (Hope)

Read: Luke 21:25-36

How do you describe homesickness to a child? You don’t.
They know.
Children know the feeling of being away from home. It’s fear, dipped in loneliness,
that “What if I’ve been forgotten?” sonnet,
or the “What if I can’t go back?” refrain.
Even a healthy, scrubbed-clean,
showered-with-love child
knows the longing of home.

But if I had to.
If I had to describe
that aching feeling, I would say:
“Homesickness is when longing and grief
wrap themselves around you like a blanket.
It’s the door to comfort thrown open.
It’s an eye on the horizon for what could be
and the only way out is to keep walking,
to keep dreaming,
to keep looking
for signs that will point you back home.”

And if you tell that to a child,
you just may realize
that a part of your spirit
has shoes on
and has always been walking,
always been dreaming,
always been looking
for the home that could be.

The door to comfort has been blown open.
Tell God I’m homesick.
I’m on my way.

Poem by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed

From Close to Home: Advent Devotional. Copyright © 2021 | A Sanctified Art LLC | All Rights Reserved.

A column written by Parish Nurse, Mary Horn, RN

Holidays intensify our feelings of loss. Some losses involve the death of people we love and who shared holidays with us in the past. Other times our losses are from the passage of time and may not be as significant but represent a loss. We miss the excitement of young children looking forward to Santa Claus and our house feels empty and lonely. My daughter and I used to go on a post Christmas shopping trip and the purchases made were my gift to her. Now she spends her extra days in Iowa visiting in-laws.

Many people offer suggestions for coping with holidays. I like some from a video called 10 Things You Can Do Now When You're in Grief produced by David Kessler, a noted speaker and writer on grief. He suggests doing things that help you to honor and remember your loved one—write a love letter to them, talk about your loss with someone who will just listen, think of something that you wanted to do before they died and do it. Recognize that you can't focus on grief all the time. Do something nice for yourself, something that may be distracting if even for a short while. For me that would be attending a play. Taking a walk every day usually perks people's spirits. Focus on things that you have been able to do—even just getting out of bed, or fixing a nutritious meal, or doing a cleaning project. Look outside yourself and look ahead. Watch the news and see what is going on in the rest of the world. Recognize something that is ongoing that did not go away with your loss. Keep some old traditions but start some new ones. And probably most importantly–do something for someone else. This may not be the best holiday you can remember but you may be able to find some bright spots that help bring healing.