At the recent November meeting of our Presbytery, one of my colleagues began
the evening by addressing Presbytery on the occasion of her demission from Parish
Ministry. 5 years of meetings leading to multiple unions and readjustments
precipitated by the Church’s Mission Planning processes, have left her exhausted
and broken, after one too many acrimonious meetings. It was a salutary start to
what became a meeting lasting for more than 3 and a half hours.
Presbyters were sympathetic to the pain expressed so eloquently, but conscious
too that Mission Planning affects us all. None of us are immune to the changes,
even here in Bishopbriggs. Returning home in the car in the dark after the meeting
with another colleague, we speculated about whether our colleague, who had just
left Ministry prematurely, would ever find her way back into the service of the
Church as an Ordained Minister. There was a sense that she had spoken to us all
that evening from a place of deep trauma.
I am in no doubt that we are ministering now in challenging times. The realities of
serving our congregation, parish and indeed our modern world seem so demanding.
Political divisions here and abroad seem to run deep. Here and further afield the
people of God are suffering in poverty, in violence and from wars and genocide. We
fear for the future of the world and the Church, as Church membership declines
and worship attendances fall. It is a difficult time to be people of faith, to believe
in the Good News when our phone feeds seem filled with nothing but bad news.
As we stand on the edge of another Advent season, I believe we need to consider
not only how we respond but how we locate ourselves as those called upon to speak
and act faithfully in a hurting and troubled world. I am not sure that we should
cast ourselves in the role of a ‘superhero.’ We cannot ‘swing in’ from the outside –
beyond the struggle, mess and pain – to help. The ‘superhero‘ position is not
faithful. After all, we are called to serve and lead by a God who chooses sacrificial
love over divine force. We are to guide our communities in the footsteps of Christ,
whose leadership took the shape of a cross. Maybe in Advent we can find a couple
of alternatives – the midwife and the residential prophet (specifically Habakkuk).
A midwife will typically accompany. The midwife comes along for the journey of a
pregnancy, labour and delivery. The midwife brings certain insight and wisdom to
guide the birthing parent in responding to challenges along the way. The midwife
can also discern when things are moving along well or when to bring others in for
support. However, even the most gifted and experienced midwife can’t birth a
baby for a family. Like a midwife, we cannot always jump in and fix everything. But
we can accompany, guide, advise and journey alongside people. That will mean at
times that even as we proclaim the Good News of Jesus, we need not ignore pain or
hurt. At Presbytery in a sense, we were acknowledging pain and disorientation, to
bless the broken spaces – trusting that God is present and at work in them, even
when new life or hope seems far away or hard to reach.
The residential prophet, such as Habakkuk offers us another model of being.
Often overlooked as minor prophet, Habakkuk does not come ‘swinging in’ with a
word for the people. Instead, he experiences calamity alongside his people. Much
of the book of Habakkuk is filled with him crying out to God with and on behalf of
his community. He stands at his watch post with a complaint on his lips but climbing
to the top of the fortified city wall, he does not escape. Instead, he has a
different viewpoint from which to survey the destruction, loss and grief around
him. From there he offers no grand speech, nor shares a solution or offers
platitudes. He climbs on the ramparts and waits. Even more, he anticipates. He
anticipates that God is going to respond. And God does respond, promising, “For
there is still a vision for the appointed time, it speaks of the end and does not lie.
If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come; it will not delay.”(2:3) God’s
promise is powerful; we know that in our heart of hearts. But Habakkuk does not
deny pain. He fully grieves and laments with and behalf of his people. At the same
time, he leans into the promise of what God will yet do, He occupies the space
between brokenness and hope, pain and promise, death and resurrection.
In this season of Advent, I invite you to lean in with me towards God, and to His
promise. In doing so together, we may spark new imaginations that will respond to
the present and prepare us for whatever God may yet do.

“For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his
shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Everlasting
Father, Prince of Peace.” Isaiah 9:6