Instead of dying, Jonah is rescued. The whale isn’t God’s judgement, it’s God’s mercy (kind of an uncomfortable mercy!) The mercy of God, once again, triumphing over judgement… Now, Jonah, having been shown mercy, is feeling a lot of internal discomfort: he’d rather die than live with a God who forgives his enemies… 

“We are God’s beloved”. This is our deepest identity. But this is only the beginning of the story. God takes this vast expansive love, as broad as the midday sun, and narrows it into a beam of light, shining within a human life in uniquely personal ways. Our awakening to that light is the next bit of the story.

In 1 Samuel 3:1-10, Samuel is waking up slowly to the presence of God calling him, singularly and personally, by name. At first, Samuel assumes the voice belongs to Eli, the priest who has raised him since he was brought to the temple by his mother, Hannah. After a few times, Eli suggests an alternate possibility: the voice MIGHT be God. Even though no one had heard the voice of God or received a vision from God for a long long time, Eli was open to the possibility that this MIGHT be of God.

So, Eli gives Samuel this beautiful piece of advice. He suggests that Samuel be open to possibility too. In other words, be open to the possibility that this thing happening in your life might just be of God. 

Then he suggests that Samuel get curious. If he hears the voice again, says, “Speak Lord. Speak. I am listening.” He suggests that Samuel simply cultivates space to listen, to see if indeed God might have something to say.

The revelation of God and our awareness and response to this revelation is a relational dynamic that ebbs and flows throughout the course of our life. When we gather on Sunday, we are making room for one another on this ever evolving journey. What might God be doing among us? What might God be doing in each other, even if it looks differently?

Have you ever felt seen, known, and celebrated by someone? Not for what you do, but just for who you are? Have you ever felt that kind of delight for another person, not because of what they do for you, but simply for who they are? What would it feel like to know that God sees you that way? To hear God say: 

“You are my beloved. I love you, not because of what you do for me. Not because of how you serve me. Or how you fill my needs. Or how you serve others. Or how you fill their needs. You could walk out of this church and never return. You could walk away from all you do for me. And you would still be My Delight."

How Does a Weary World Rejoice?
“We allow ourselves to be amazed.”

It’s hard to describe awe. It's expansive. Something vast, yet near. Awe moves us. Softens our guard. For a moment, we forget about ourselves, lost in the moment.

Dr. Keltner is a professor at Berkeley who has studied awe and found it calms our nervous system, activating our vagal nerve. Our heart beat slows, our breathing deepens, and oxytocin is released, making trust and bonding easier. It even settles the part of our brain involved in how we perceive ourselves—we become less preoccupied with ourselves and have less negative self-talk. Awe gets us out of our heads.

I wonder if we aren't curating awe in this season? We put lights on our houses and trees, choose presents for each other, wrap them and tuck them under the tree, light candles, put on Christmas music, and enjoy lovely food—hoping that, if even for a moment, those we love will feel that fleeting, expansive sense of wellbeing.

At Christmas time, in a culture saturated by stimulus, the “awe” offerings are getting bigger, noisier, and brighter. Our economic systems grow rich by attaching awe to consumption, particularly the consumption of the spectacular. And we do find awe in the spectacular—the Nutcracker ballet, a forest light up with lights, a mountain covered with fresh powder.

It's comforting to know that Dr. Keltner also found awe amongst the prisoners of San Quentin State Prison. They told him they too experienced awe—in the light, in the air, in reading and spiritual practices.

Awe is found in the spectacular AND in the mundane. And today's passage, Luke 1:57-66, gives us even more information on awe. This week, I looked at this passage from this lens of awe, approaching it with attentiveness and curiosity, to see what it had to teach me about awe. Here is a summary of what I found.

—Anne

JOY

"When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leapt in her womb..."
In this moment of connection between Mary and Elizabeth, this deeply embodied, energetic exchange passed between them. Something moved between them, woman to woman, child to child. That thing was so palpable that John, the baby, leapt within Elizabeth. Standing together on that threshold of Elizabeth’s house, feeling that energetic flow of Spirit connection, they felt joy.

What if joy is that energetic flow within connections, like the electrical current that connects two filaments in a lightbulb? What if joy is an energy that can flow within even those tiny, seemingly insignificant, fleeting connections that happen everyday? What if these little eddies of energetic joy that moves through us, all intertwined and entangled into life, is the gift of the Spirit to us?

And what if this current of joy, which can contain elements of sorrow too, is flickering whether we are actively aware of it or not, keeping us warm, like the way a low flame on a burner warms a pot of soup. 

Later, over meals with friends and family, Elizabeth and Mary would recount this fleeting moment—how Elizabeth felt the baby kick, and knew this baby was holy. Somewhere along the way, Luke heard this story, and decided to include it in his gospel. He takes it out of the discard pile of women’s embodied stories and gives it a place of honour, right there at the beginning of his narrative about Jesus. And that brings me joy, too:)

This Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent, is also the very first Sunday of a new liturgical church year. Why does the church year begin here? Because a spirituality that pretends the darkness doesn’t exist is no good to anyone.

Series Wrap up & transition to Advent... !

Seeds remind us of organic growth patterns. They are small, full of potential and can flourish when placed in the right environment. As we drink from the well and take our place at the table, the Holy Spirit works in us. The soil of our heart becomes softer, the stones are removed, bitter roots are pulled. As the soil is prepared, the seeds of the kingdom within us begin to grow. 

The seed symbolizes the radical fertility of the Spirit. At Southpoint, growth isn't about numbers or programs but about bearing the fruit of the kingdom in our lives. We desire inner fruitfulness—love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness and self-control. The Spirit nurtures these fruits within us as we realign ourselves back to Jesus' heart. We desire outward fruitfulness - the Kingdom coming through our actions as we realign our lives back to God's desire for justice, mercy, restoration. We desire this inward and outward growth for ourselves and for our children.

At Southpoint, we are responsible for cultivating a healthy environment for these seeds to grow. We seek to treasure the seeds within us. We watch for what the Spirit is growing in us. We look for new opportunities. We wait for leaders to emerge. We trust the Spirit to provide what we need for each stage of growth. We return regularly to the well of Christ's presence to water the seed. We do this as an intergenerational community on Sunday mornings—reading scriptures, praying, and sharing—making special intention to nurture the seeds growing within our children. We do this as a leadership team once a month, and in various circles of leadership, including congregational meetings, throughout the year. 

Loving God, grant us a continually renewing experience of your love, acceptance and presence; grant us a core experience of being caught up in your net of love and mercy.
Grant us humility, hope, and grace that by actions of wisdom, courage and justice we might mend and extend those connections that are healing and humanizing and reconciling.
Inspire among us the prophetic vision of a deep, abiding, and all-embracing shalom. As Jesus prayed, may we be one as you are one.

It is this image of the Table that became the portal through which we became an openly welcoming and affirming church. In the early days, it was our weekly practice of communion that brought clarity to the conversation around membership. Gay and straight, we love Jesus and want to follow him. One day, we will sit around the banquet feast of heaven together. So, why would we not be that beloved community at this banquet table here on Earth?

Scott Simpson, founding pastor of Southpoint, and his team crafted this expression of the Table, which has carried us: “Trapeza is Greek for table. In the Christian writings, it often stands for the whole meal and is associated closely with the act of hospitality. The Table is a foundational ministry image at Southpoint. We gather midweek around a shared meal. We welcome people to our table with coffee and refreshments when they enter our gathering on Sunday mornings… just as Jesus welcomes us to his table. We practice hospitality with our neighbours, both giving and receiving. We are prayerfully seeking ways to extend our table to include the stranger, the poor and the forgotten of our society.”