Author: kenanewkirk

A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. – Isaiah 40:3 (NRSV)

Maybe you have heard this passage before. It is repeated in the gospels and used to describe the ministry of John the Baptist. John was a prophet sent ahead of Jesus to prepare the way for him. He lived in the wilderness near the Jordan river and people came from all around to hear him and be baptized. John called people to repent and get their hearts right because he knew that the Messiah of God was coming soon.

Advent is the season before Christmas in which we are supposed to prepare our hearts for Christ just like John did two thousand years ago. We are invited to take time for reflection and prayer. We are called to cultivate anticipation in our souls through worship and studying the Bible. We are encouraged to sit quietly and remember what Jesus means for our lives.

The thing is, while God is asking us to prepare our hearts for Jesus, the world is asking us to prepare our homes for Christmas. There are gifts to buy, halls the deck, presents to wrap, lights to string, cookies to bake, and carols to sing. There is so much to keep us busy and distracted that we might miss Jesus when he shows up.

So how should we prepare our hearts for Jesus this Advent? Here’s a few ideas: participate in some charity work in your community, attend a special Christmas service with your family, or spend some extra time in prayer or reading your Bible alone or with some close friends.

Believe me, Christmas morning is so much sweeter when we welcome the day having prepared for Jesus.

I keep hearing that we are living in unprecedented times. A global pandemic plus a presidential election amid some of the most divisive times in our country’s history.

While it’s true, times are incredibly tricky; they are not without precedent. Countries have experienced pestilence, politics, and protests for generations. It has been worse.

The Spanish Flu killed more people than World War I, and we’re likely only fairing better due to advancements in health care, testing, tracing, and social distancing. My husband, a history enthusiast, recently reminded me that ancient Rome handled political disagreements with a sharp knife and a dump in the Tiber River. And there was a time in this country that protests for civil rights boiled over into Civil War.

Lately, I’ve been looking into the Wesley tradition for some practical advice on conducting myself during this election season. John Wesley was once asked about how to handle voting, and this was his short response:

I met those of our society who had voted in the ensuing election and advised them
1. To vote, without fee or reward, for the person they judged most worthy
2. To speak no evil of the person they voted against, and
3. To take care, their spirits were not sharpened against those that voted on the other side.

While this is a helpful outline for keeping discourse civil and voting once’s conscience, it has many holes. How does one define “most worthy?” Should I vote for the person whose policies benefit me the most or benefits society the most? Then again, “worthy” sounds like a judgment of character, not policy.

And what about speaking “no evil.” Sounds easy enough, but does that mean saying only good things to the exclusion of the truth?

Perhaps the most challenging piece of this advice is not to take things personally. To stay friends with people who voted differently than you did. This, I think, is the crux of the matter. As a privileged white woman, while this is challenging for me, it might not be impossible. And I’ve heard this wisdom a lot in the past. While we can disagree politically, we can still be friends personally.

However, politicians have turned so many personal issues into political issues. Government policies have blurred the lines between what is political and what is personal. Most divisive issues in the political landscape affect people on deeply personal levels. Policies around gay marriage, abortion, race relations have an impact that reaches deeper than our skin. Even issues like health care and war are issues of life and death.

I tend to think this is intentional. It’s easier for politicians to divide and conquer than unite and lead. We are being manipulated over a handful of issues and vote out of fear. If you watch political ads on tv, you’d think the world would implode if the opposing candidate won the election.

Nevertheless, how is it possible to address these personal things so dispassionately? How are we to remain friends with people who want to legislate beyond the boundaries of our bodies? How have politicians made us so so concerned with policing each other’s bodies? And since when does the government’s jurisdiction reach extend beyond our skin?

I appreciate the people who subscribe to Wesley’s third piece of advice, to remain friends with those of differing political beliefs. I’m not saying I disagree with Wesley, but we must realize how monumental this task may be.

For some people, it might mean simply agreeing to disagree. But for others it means forgiving a personal injury.

It might mean forgiving someone who voted in support of a policy that violates your own humanity. It might even be a policy that threatens your very life. Some might argue that I am dramatic, but I am merely trying my best to put myself in another person’s shoes.

Governments are fallible. Laws and policies that were once celebrated as just are now condemned as cruel. As a country, I pray we continue to seek Liberty, and Justice for all, knowing we’ll frequently fall short. When we do, I hope we do more than agree to disagree. I hope we forgive and ask for forgiveness. I can think of no better mark of Christ in politics.

There’s a lot that supposedly happens during a baptism theologically. A person is adopted into the Kingdom of God, marked according to the covenant by the Holy Spirit, washed of sin, and raised to new life with Jesus.

I’ve seen plenty of baptisms. I’ve seen babies get baptized, and I’ve seen new believers get baptized. I’ve seen people sprinkled with water in church and dunked in lakes on camp retreats. I’ve recited the liturgy more times than I can count.

But none of these things prepared me to witness the baptism of my son. It was the most profound experience of God’s grace I have encountered in years. The last few weeks, I had been searching for the right words to describe this moment when I was presented with Luke 3:21-22 during a recent Bible study:

When all the people were being baptized, Jesus was baptized too. And as he was praying, heaven was opened  and the Holy Spirit descended on him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.”

Reading this passage brought me a new kind of joy and understanding.

Last November, William and I traveled to Jesus’ baptism site by the Jordan River. The river has moved locations over the years and now runs about a hundred yards East of the traditional spot due to earthquakes and irrigation from farming. You can still visit the ruins of the Byzantine church built there to commemorate the former location.

When William and I visited, our Jordanian tour guide took a particular interest in us. We chatted with him a good bit. When it came time for the tour to move along, he told us to hang back so we could duck under the rope and walk down into the dried-up river bed typically off-limits to tourists.

“Go down the steps, look to Jerusalem and make a wish,” he said with a wink. I couldn’t believe our good fortune.

When we were alone, we walked down into the river bed. There are massive marble steps, and a foundation once supported a canopy, and you can see the groves where water used to flow. We then turned our eyes toward Jerusalem and prayed for our unborn child. I was ten weeks pregnant at the time.

When Jonah was baptized, we mixed a few tablespoons of water from the Jordan River into the baptismal font. I thought of that day in Jordan, praying for the baby I hadn’t met yet. And when the water touched his head, I thought to myself, “this is my son, who I love, in whom I’m well pleased.”

I am so thankful for everyone who has supported Baby Jonah in his faith journey so far, and I look forward to all the love he will experience in the family of faith.

At his baptism, I was so thankful to know that the love of God extends to him and to see God’s love spread over him in the sacrament of baptism. I imagine that the words spoken by God over Jesus Christ were spoken over Jonah when the water was brushed over his head.

I wonder if God spoke those words over me at my baptism, and I wonder if God is still speaking these words over everyone who abides in Christ. “This is my daughter,” “This is my son,” “whom I love, with whom I am well pleased.”

I pray that each day, Jonah will rise with the knowledge that he is God’s beloved, that there is nothing he can do to earn the gift of grace, and that God finds pleasure when lives authentically in Christ.

In September, Jonah made his first trip to Raleigh to visit his grandparents who live there. It was the first of what will likely be many road trips.

Our little guy is blessed to have so many people who love him, and it was exciting to bring my child to the place where I spent my childhood.

While we were there, we played a lot of games, which is pretty typical. At one point, Jonah‘s grandfather, my father, held him in his lap with a handful of cards in front of him. He spoke to him about what the cards meant and made a joke about going “all in.” Granted, the cards we were using were for a particular game called The Mind and had nothing to do with poker.

I played cards a lot with my grandparents growing up. And my father’s father was very insistent that we play using proper etiquette. We were chastised if we cut the deck the wrong way or dealt incorrectly. In fact, I specifically learned to play bridge so we could spend more time together.

When I saw my father fanning out the cards in front of my son, he looked like my grandfather. The torch of grandparenthood had passed.

This thought brought me both joy and sadness because my dad’s parents were recently moved into an assisted care facility. They are in poor health and can no longer manage at home.

My grandparents and my parents have been a remarkable influence on my card-playing as well as faith journey. For example, the tag line I use on my social media pages is a favorite proverb of my Papa:

“There, but for the grace of God, go I.”

Of course, my mother’s role as a youth pastor inspired me to go into ministry. Both of my grandmothers had profound faith and served in the choir and teaching Sunday school. My father taught me Contract Bridge but also how to pray.

It says in Psalms 144:4 that it is the responsibility and privilege for all generations to mentor each other in faith:

One generation shall commend your works to another, and shall declare your mighty acts.

This means sharing in faith is not a one-way street. We learn about God from our elders, but we also proclaim God’s work in our lives to our elders.

As we begin our lives as parents, I’m looking forward to how all of these older family members, these older generations, will pour into the life of our son. But I’m also excited about all the ways Jonah will celebrate our Creator. He’s already igniting new joys and wonders as we watch him grow. Without words, he is already a fantastic evangelist, proclaiming with his fingers and toes the love of our God.

I anticipate many card games in Jonah’s future. I hope he learns proper card etiquette and loves to play bridge with his Papa. But I know he will learn all about the love of God from his family and church family. And I pray he will continue to be an evangelist, even without words.

I was only in 4th Grade when America was attacked on her own soil for the first time since Pearl Harbor. The teachers were acting strange, and then without warning, my mother picked me up from school to take me home.

She had witnessed the carnage on the news with my older brother at a local restaurant after a dentist appointment. I remember watching the news coverage while sitting on our living room floor when we got home.

Yes, I was young. I was also terrified. I only knew about the World Trade Center from an old Simpsons episode, and I really wasn’t allowed to watch The Simpsons.

Maybe my experience seems less significant because I was young. However, those of us who were young will remember longer. We will be responsible for telling the story when we’re in our 80s and 90s, and it seems like ancient history.

And I remember other things about 9/11 too:

I remember visiting New York for the first time and gazing into the giant pit where the buildings once stood.

I remember visiting the Memorial not long after it first opened and seeing all the names written in stone.

I remember being in college and listening to a lecture on 9/11. Our professor was a volunteer firefighter, and he was concerned that we understand its place in history.

I remember my first graduating class of seniors while working in youth ministry who were born after 9/11. They never knew the world before. Those students like so many others will remember only in solidarity, not in actual practice.

But lately, I remember how united our country was immediately following the incident. I remember the disinterest in partisan politics. Remember the love and concern we had for one another.

That united sentiment didn’t last very long, and a lot of poor decisions were made in the aftermath motivated by fear. But I miss 9/12, as many of you might too.

I’ve also been somewhat disappointed that’s despite numerous tragedies and challenges since that day, division and partisanism in our country have only gotten worse.

I’ve seen posts on social media about how people miss the America of 9/12. I get it. I do too.

However, I think it’s important to remember that division in our country is a choice. We choose to promote intentionally divisive content. We choose to see the world as strictly black-and-white. We choose rejection over empathy, and we’re choosing it more and more each day.

In his speech excepting the Republican nomination for the U.S. Senate in Springfield, Illinois, the future president Abraham Lincoln made reference to a teaching from Jesus Christ. It was at the height of civil tension in our country.

“ A house divided against itself, cannot stand,” he said.

When we choose division, we choose weakness. So many people around the world would like us to choose weakness.

May we all be mindful of the divisions in our country that people use to gain political power. May we all be held accountable for the divisive choices we ourselves make, which alienate us from our neighbors and make our communities weaker.

But most of all, may we remember as Christians, we are united as one. Neither slave nor free, neither male nor female, neither Republican nor Democrat, neither American nor immigrant.

I will continue to tell the story of 9/11, but I will also tell the story of 9/12 when our country did its best to unite.

A couple of weeks ago, we took Baby Jonah to meet his great-grandmother for the first time. Dorothy Newkirk is 92 years young and lives not far from us.

Like many seniors, she lives alone, and like many seniors, she occasionally struggles with her memory.

We volunteered to deliver her weekly groceries and bring the baby along for a short visit. While there, William did a few chores, and I hung out with her while she held the baby.

Curious, the ways aging affects our memory. On her kitchen table, she had displayed a list of great-grandchildren’s names. She was so happy to meet Baby Jonah, but she kept asking the same questions over and over.

She asked me, “Is he a good baby?” serval times. She also volunteered more than once that her son, Williams’ father, was a good baby, but that her daughter cried frequently.

“Is he a good baby?” She would ask. “By that, I mean, does he sleep well at night? Does he cry a lot?”

“Lyle loved babies.” She said over and over. She told me several times that if it were up to her late husband, they would have had a baby every year and a half.

I could see waves of joy and nostalgia pass over her as she revisited, again and again, these thoughts. Her son was a “good baby.” Her daughter cried a lot. Her husband loved babies and wanted more children, at least once every year and a half.

Some people might feel frustrated that she would repeat herself, and maybe if we’d been there all day, it would have bothered us. But at the moment, it felt like her repeated words served as a chorus, reminding me what was important.

It hit home when she would laughingly say, “I bet you don’t get anything done at home. Don’t worry about all that. Just enjoy it.”

I went home, turning this comment over in my mind. ‘You won’t get anything done…don’t worry, just enjoy it.’ I wasn’t sure if I should agree or disagree. Of course, I’m not getting much done! Caring for an infant takes up so much time. I don’t have time for much else.

On the other hand, you wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff I get done. I’m caring for a tiny human being, and he requires endless hours of feeding, changing, bathing, holding, and play. And this tiny human being will become a full grown adult with his own personality and responsibilities.

Regardless, the repetition of these few comments made them sink deeper into my heart. Repetition is used frequently by God in the Bible to underscore the importance of a message and prompt careful reflection.

In 1 Kings 19:11-18, God asks the prophet Elijah multiple times “what are you doing here?”

In John 21, Jesus asks Peter multiple times, “do you love me?”

And each Sunday morning, we act, called on the repetition of the Apostles Creed and the Lord’s Prayer.

My life has changed radically over the last few months, which I expected. But I didn’t expect everyone else’s life to change radically too. I have found some comfort in the repetition of small things: that first-morning playtime, the end of day bath, the meal I share with my husband just after we put Jonah to bed. There is meaning in the repetition. There are lessons in the redundancy.

These are certainly not exciting times, but there is certainly something we can learn. Our lives today are unique, and I’m trying to learn what God would teach me from life’s current rhythm. I hope you have your eyes and ears open to lean something from God too.

The night you were born was exactly three years after your dad and I were married. Before the doctors came in to deliver you, I passed your dad an anniversary card.

I suppose you were the gift.

When we first met, you were red, splotchy, and screaming. It was an interesting first impression.

That evening they brought you back into our room after the doctors checked you out. They rolled you into the room while we were finally eating dinner. They told us your results look good, and then the nurses left. We were alone with you for the first time.

At this point, it occurred to me that we had no idea what we were doing.

And then you began to cry.

Still numb and sore from delivery, I couldn’t move to help while your father sprang into action. He changed your first diaper.

It was late, and we tried to get some sleep. We wheeled your cart between my bed and the sofa where your father was sleeping. You both drifted off, but I stayed awake looking at you and imagining what this would be like.

I decided that parenting would be like a pilgrimaged. It would be a long journey with high mountains to conquer and low valleys to enjoy. There would be a lot of surprises along the way, and there’s no chance of us anticipating every little thing.

But, like a pilgrimage, it would be a long experience. We will learn a lot, and there will be plenty of joys and sorrows along the way.

So along this journey we promise you a few things:

When you are happy, we will be happy for you. When you are hurt, we will mourn.

When you fall, we will help you get back up and help you learn how to walk again.

When you’re lost, we will come find you. When you wander off the path, we will wait for you. When you mess up, we will forgive you. When you triumph, we will celebrate you.

We will teach the things you need to know, and even somethings we just like teaching.

We will surround you with other pilgrims, family and friends, to support and cherish you. Some will stay with you the whole journey and some just for a few miles.

We will provide you with everything you need, somethings you simply want, and a few things you don’t want but should have anyway.

We will be a soft place to rest, but never a place to become complacent. We will encourage you, empower you, and find things that inspire you.

We will show you how much we love each other, so you understand how much we love you.

And we will raise you up in the faith, giving you a head start on the journey God has planned especially for you.

After a while, you began to cry. Again, your father got up to change you. Then I nursed you.

Jonah, we love you. We look forward to this journey with you. Thank you for making us parents.

On Saturday morning, William and I completed our online Zoom birthing class. In addition to all of the standard information, we were also informed about all the COVID-19 protocol. By the end of the course, I started feeling the pressure to get everything in order, especially packing our hospital bag.

One implication of COVID is that food options are limited at hospitals now. Vending machines carry germs, and the gifts shops are closed. So we were advised to pack a lot more snack options. I also needed a baby thermometer and some postpartum supplies. I don’t get out much, usually just the doctor’s office, but I decided to mask up and head to Target, where I could get everything on my list.

Not long after I arrived, an announcement came on telling us Target would be closed in 30 minutes. It was only a little after 6 pm, but I thought maybe this was some new COVID protocol to clean the store. While I was there, three more announcements came on urgently, telling us to leave the store. While I grabbed my last snack items at the back of the store, I had three associates urge me to go to the front. There, every register was opened to rush people out the door. That’s when I realized they were preparing for protesters. This was the first night of curfew, and I wouldn’t get the push notification from the government for a few more hours.

But there I was standing in line, crazy pregnant, mask on, and now being rushed out the door by security, associates and police and told to head home.

For a brief moment, I felt sorry for myself. Looking around at the craziness, the scene was dystopian, borderline apocalyptic. I was mad that I couldn’t have a normal pregnancy. I have been practically homebound for months to keep my baby safe from COVID. Then, the first time I dare go out to get supplies for the hospital and postpartum, I’m rushed out the door in a panic.

For a brief moment, I felt sorry for myself.

But then I started to think about all the ways I need to prepare to raise and to teach my child, not just feed and clothe him. The protests are a reminder to me that hatred and bigotry are not learned. Racism is taught and often legislated. It’s a choice.

But apathy and ignorance are also a choice. White people can choose to raise their kids away from issues of race and justice because they have that option. People of color do not.

I have been very encouraged by the number of my former students who have been taking part in peaceful protesting and educating themselves on civil rights issues. I have also begun to think about how I will raise my son to be engaged in matters of social and racial justice. I am thankful there are resources available for kids of a young age. I am also grateful that I have a partner who is dedicated to these issues as well.

Quarantine and curfew have not been ideal. I’ve had fewer opportunities to buy cute onesies and satisfy pregnancy cravings. But I have a lifetime opportunity to raise a child in the faith of Jesus, full of compassion and justice, who sees everyone as a child of God with sacred worth. I pray for the man he will become, and I am thankful for the opportunity.

Resources for Educating Children on Racial Justice from The UMC Publishing House

“For this child I prayed; and the Lord has granted me the petition that I made to him.
‭‭1 Samuel‬ ‭1:27-28‬ ‭NRSV‬‬

A few weeks ago, I was blessed to celebrate our growing family through the wonder that is modern technology. Because gathering in person is not considered safe, my mother and friends hosted a virtual baby shower on Zoom.

It worked quite well! Though I had been looking forward to all the dainty hors d’oeuvres, which tend to be found at traditional showers, it was beautiful to see so many smiling faces from all over the country.

I was most blessed by the prayers and well wishes offered by each person who called in.

Towards the end of the weekend, I received a last-minute gift that didn’t make it to the actual party. It is a hand-lettered Bible verse preserved in a simple frame. The passage is from 1 Samuel, and the speaker is a woman named Hannah, mother to the prophet Samuel.

Many women in the Old Testament struggled to conceive children, as many still do today. But what was unique in Hannah’s situation is the kind of fervent prayer she offers to God in petitioning for her child.

Hannah’s is the first instance in scripture in which someone prays silently. It was such an unusual phenomenon at the time that the priest nearby thinks she is out of her mind drunk.

Hannah understands, in a way no one before she had understood, that God is big enough to hear unspoken prayers. She is so earnest and anxious in her petition that the sound of her voice fails, and she simply pours out her soul to God.

It is her concern for her child that drives her. And though my unborn child has been prayed for, I look forward to all the ways that he will be prayed for throughout his life.

Prayers for children, either with a child born or unborn, grown or half-grown, adopted or even not yet convinced, seem to be characterized by the same earnestness and anxiousness found in Hannah’s prayer. A parent’s heart cares so deeply.

God, our Father, cares so deeply. Though we might not always audibly hear his voice, his desire is for us and our wellbeing, like any good parent.

Hannah thanked God for answering her prayer. And today, I thank Hannah for showing me how to pray.

Easter is not how we imagined it this year. It’s not how we usually do things. But, Lord, you have mercy for all of us just the same. You have joy for us just the same. You have glory for us just the same.

For those who have kept the fast this season, for those who have lapsed, and for those who have given up more than they ever expected, Lord, we thank you.

For those who put that extra effort to make things seem a little more normal, a little more cheerful, a little more beautiful, Lord, we thank you.

For those who dress in their Sunday best and gather the family around to stream the Easter service, Lord, we thank you.

For those who stay in their pajamas and sing hymns in front of their computer screens, Lord, we thank you.

For those who are tired and reluctant to celebrate the resurrection while still feeling trapped in the tomb of isolation, Lord, we thank you.

For those who have brightened this world with chalk drawings, encouraging posters, contactless gifts, and parades, Lord, we thank you.

For those whose fingers are tired from sewing masks, hands are fatigued from writing letters, and arms are exhausted from the lack of hugs, Lord, we thank you.

For those who have worked to supply, feed, treat, serve, and protect the rest of us, Lord, we thank you.

For those on the front lines of healing this terrible virus, who are risking their life and health to keep people alive, Lord, we thank you.

For every other day of this challenge, we come to you with prayers we desperately need to be answered, with hurts than need healing, with anxiety that needs soothing. But today, Lord, we come to you to give thanks for what you have done on the cross for us, and what you are already doing in this world for us.

For in your sacrifice we have victory! In your triumph we have life! Death, which lurks around every corner, has lost its sting on this day, and we can now taste eternity.

Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice! Christ is risen, and life reigns! Christ is risen, and not one dead remains in a tomb!

We give thanks, and we celebrate that you walked out of that tomb. And we know, dear Lord, that we, too, will walk out of this and every tomb that comes our way.

Amen.