Advent 3: For Behold . . .

For behold . . .

I was blessed to attend a small k-3 primary school called “Miss Mason’s School.” Located in an old mansion, our classrooms were the living room, den, and bedrooms. The place was magic not only because of the location, but the woman who founded the school. I’m sure she was a great educator, but what I remember most was her ability to tell a story.

At no time was that more apparent than on our third-grade ski trip up in Vermont. This annual rite of passage that took us away from our parents for a weekend was both exciting and frightening. To help us make it through without overwhelming homesickness, Miss Mason would sit with us in the dark and tell us a story as we tried to fall asleep. I do not remember any details of the stories, only the magical way they made me feel. Suddenly, the darkness was no longer frightening, and we were carried away to a place where dreams and life seemed to become one and the same. Our hearts calmed while our imaginations awakened.

In this season of Advent, I can’t help but wonder if that wasn’t how it felt for the shepherds as they sat in the darkness and longed to be home. An angel appeared in the dark, we’re told, bringing “good tidings of great joy for all people.” It must have sounded a lot like Miss Mason taking a deep breath and saying, “Once upon a time.” Their hearts must have calmed while their imaginations awakened as they heard the good news that spoke to the deepest longing within them : you do not need to be afraid . . . a great story is unfolding . . . it’s going to change you and the world forever.

Advent is many things, but chief among them is that it is a season to tell and hear stories. Maybe a grandparent tells of Christmases long ago, a parent describes when he or she was a child, or a child makes up a story about snowy wood in a forest just through a wardrobe.

In the end, however, all stories have a common source (at least the good ones do) and regardless of the details, they bring good tiding of great joy for all people: the darkness that surrounds us is nothing to fear, we were created by the greatest story-teller there is, and we’re invited to hear the “song of angels” once again and find our way into the great story as if for the first time.

It’s enough to get us to sit up, cross my legs, and listen up!

Advent II: Crowded Roads

I grew up in Princeton, NJ, a wonderful pre-American Revolution town where the roads are tight and twisty. “They used to be horse and carriage tails,” my father explained. Picturesque and quaint, they’re now congested with unimaginable traffic. The roads were never meant for the cars and volume of today.

My memory of the Princeton roads came to me as I began this year’s Advent journey. As I head out on the spiritual roads of my soul, I can see that they, too, are congested and clogged. In this important season, my to-do list becomes overwhelmingly long and complicated. Like so many, I try to squeeze in every meaningful thing beside seasonal expectations and obligations only to experience no meaning and meet no expectation.

My soul was never meant for so much traffic. It’s easier to say simplify than to actually do less. Even though I know if I do less I will experience more, the temptation to keep filling remains too inviting. One of my favorite spiritual books has really wide margins, and I have always appreciated the “breathing room” the author gave us to write notes or sketch drawings as we consider the words she wrote. This is the season to widen our margins, to breathe more fully and more deliberately in the rooms of our souls.

I want to make time to sit with someone and really listen.

I want to wander outside and feel the cold air and see vistas that are only possible without the leaves.

I want to smell a real fire and let staring at the flames transport me to who knows where.

None of that’s possible when the pages are full and the list is endless. The problem is, spiritual subtraction takes work and always comes at a cost. Some things inevitably will be left undone. Hard choices will need to be made. Like cleaning out a closet or desk drawer, we often start strong then start giving way to keeping something we might want one day . . . but never do.

Advent is a time to stop sitting in traffic.

It’s a time to slow down, not speed up.

It’s a time to create space, not fill it. (Full glasses cannot receive anything new; no wonder the season can’t enter our hearts like it once did.)

The roads are congested; we’re suffocatingly busy.

In other words, there’s no room in the inn (or on the roads) . . . still.

Advent I: Bumpy Pottery

Over the years, the accomplished ceramicist changed the style of her art. She continued making bowls and mugs (among other things), but the form of her creations changed. Instead of smooth surfaces, her works became bumpy, rough, and unpredictable. The change wasn’t so much a decision as an evolution, an organic response to the artist within. There were people who celebrated the change, others who wished she’d go back to her old style, but at a recent art show she was given all the affirmation she needed.

She was one of many artists assembled in booths in a large hall. People wandered throughout, stopping occasionally to examine her work, but then looked around for more conventional pieces in the booths nearby. Then it happened. She noticed a woman looking closely at one of her mugs. She held it close to her face, so close her face almost touched it. “She’s probably looking for mistakes,” the artist’s inner critic said before she approached the woman.

“May I help you? You seem to be examining that piece closely.”

“Forgive me,” said the woman, “but I am nearly blind. I came looking for your work specifically because you create the only ones these eyes can see. The edges and bumps make it possible for me to see the pieces, plus I love the way they feel.”

The artist smiled and felt the woman had given her a gift, a gift of encouragement that made her determined to continue pursuing this new style of art.

When I heard this story, I knew I was being given a lesson about much more than pottery. As I envisioned the woman cupping the mug in her hand like a precious gift and squinting her eyes as she searched for visible edges and bumps, I knew I was being encouraged on my way toward living a more authentic life. There was a time when I tried very hard to hide my bumps and edges. I wanted to look like everyone else, but the veneer cracked and suddenly my edges, bumps and other “imperfections” were exposed. It was awful, and I longed for my old shiny, smooth life until I saw people drawing close, squinting their eyes and reaching out to touch my bumps and edges. At first, I thought it was to point out my many imperfections, but I’ve since learned that it was to see me better. Those very things I sought to hide were the things they were looking for. Like the woman with the pottery, it was the edges and bumps that made me visible, knowable.

During this time of year, we often dress up and present our best selves to our family and friends. We want the world to see our shiny selves, but if the season of Advent invites us to do anything it is to shed the veneers and bring our full selves to the season - yes, the bumps, edges too. Some people may walk away, but others, the one’s who truly matter, will draw close and hold us in a new way. They will squint their eyes and see us, truly see us, as if for the first time. Suddenly, they’ll see the work of the potter in all its uniqueness and maybe be invited to do the same.

What a wonderful Christmas that would be for us and the people around us.

For more on the artist (Lisa Howard): https: //www.lbhdesigns.net/