Hello, Friends!
       If you've been coming to worship these past two Sundays in  Advent, you've no doubt taken note of the beautiful seasonal adornments in our worship space--the majestic wreath surrounding the altar cross, lovely new banners rich with symbolism, the greenery adorned with chrismons, the evergreen  wreaths on the church doors.
       If you're not around the neighborhood after dark, you may not have taken note of yet another, new way of "decorating" for the  season.   This year for the first time we have timers set to turn on the altar area interior lights during evening hours, so that from outside, our marvelous stained glass windows glow from within, with a warm and welcoming luminosity.   The intent is to let our neighborhood know we're here, and to contribute beauty and a sign of spirit liveliness to the area.  We even hope some folks will be encouraged to worship with us, seeing the church literally in a new light.  What we didn't know is that we would be affording one wandering soul a sign of life that he didn't expect, and very  much needed.  When he showed up for worship on Sunday, he sat quietly in the very back pew, looking fairly uncomfortable, but awake and present. We're a diverse fellowship, but this young man did look “different" from our usual gathering, with his very prominent and prolific tattoos, his much-worn and not very clean clothes, his shaved  head. 
   I noticed a word tattooed across his neck, and could only make out what I thought was the word "broke."  He stayed for fellowship time, not saying much but seeming to enjoy the refreshments and engaging our regulars in polite, if shy, conversation.  I asked him if he lived in the neighborhood, and he said he was visiting a friend.   I offered my usual "hope you'll come back," and didn't really expect to see him again.   Then later that afternoon, when I did see him, it as a bit jarring--he was napping on our front steps, using his backpack for a pillow.  I didn't want to disturb him, so I waited a bit, and went on with my work.   When he awoke and I noticed him walking toward the parking lot, I met him outside, and asked him if we could help him in any way.  He said he hadn't been able to locate his friend, and  he didn't have anywhere to stay.   The weather was rapidly turning chilly and damp, so I offered him some assistance through our ELF  fund to help with a meal and lodging for the night.  Before leaving to catch the bus he told me why he had showed up that morning:   "Last night when I couldn't find my friend, I was walking  around the neighborhood.  From all the way down the street I saw your church all lit up, glowing like some ancient pyramid.   This morning when I found it, it looked way different, but I heard the music and decided to come in." You see, Dear Friends, what the light of Christ can do.  All we have to do is choose to turn our lights on, and those who need warmth, those who need guidance, those who need help, care, hope, will be drawn into the healing atmosphere of Grace.
        I don't know if we'll see Brandon again.   That's okay.  He gave us all a priceless gift, a living sign of Christ's presence and  calling to us in this holy time of Advent preparing, and waiting, and  hoping.   He reminded us of why we're here, and why we need to let  the world know that we are here:   to shed a little light on someone's path, to share beauty, to offer comfort, and extend welcome beyond our walls.  By the way:   Brandon's tattoo doesn't say "Broke"--it says "Unbroken."
        I look forward to welcoming and being welcomed with you this  Sunday, and all our days to come.

Shalom,
Sarah