Advent I: Fear not!

What words to begin the Advent journey, or any journey for that matter! They accept what we so often try to hide: fear is everywhere. We devote our lives to avoiding things that scare us, denying fear as our constant companion, and smiling as if all is well.

Some of us use wives, husbands, children or friends as pillows to protect us from the sharp edges of fear.

Others maintain full to-do lists at work or home to keep life’s pace moving fast enough to distract us from the still, small voice that longs to speak. Afraid of what we might hear, we turn up the soundtracks of our lives and work relentlessly.

Still others turn to more harmful methods to avoid or deny fear, but, in the end, fear is a patient foe and will wait until all methods of avoiding it are exhausted.

This is not new. We are not unique. In fact, the Christian story begins by naming the number one obstacle to new life: fear. To enter the story, we are told along with Mary to fear not. Easier said than done, I know, but God understands the crippling and stifling nature of fear. God knows how many novels haven’t been written, works of art not created, opportunities not seized all because of fear.

As it has been written, we are driven by a hundred forms of fear and cannot find our true selves until we put aside our fears and trust something, or someone, greater than those fears. It is then, and only then, that new life can come into the world.

Mary came to understand that.

So can we.

Walking on Vodka

“Miracles were all fine and good way back when,” said the man just holding on, “but as for my life it’s all pretty ordinary, at best.” I understood, but disagreed. Remembering when he first came into the rooms of AA - the glossy eyes and puffy face, vivid stories of excessive drinking and heartbreaking dishonesty, and his fingernail-scratching climb out of the depths – I have often looked across the room and marveled at how, with God’s help, this man is becoming a new creation. On this particular morning, he couldn’t see it.

Fog is like that. When it drifts in, it blinds us to the grace-full landscapes of our lives and we begin to doubt the wonder that surrounds us. When pressure at work squeezes tight, a child stumbles, or the world's ills overwhelm, it’s easy to get lost in the fog and, like my friend, see only the ordinary.

Thanksgiving is a time to push the fog aside. It’s been said we can live as if there are no miracles, or as if everything is a miracle. Perhaps the reality lies somewhere between the two, but as my friend bemoaned the fact he was incapable of walking on water, I celebrated his walking on vodka.

Leaves

I live in a tidy neighborhood. There are no white picket fences, at least the kind you can see, but people distinguish their properties all the same. Nowhere is that more evident than at this time of year. Take, for example, the way we deal with leaves.

There are those who hire others to remove their leaves. Strict instructions are given by one neighbor that leaves are to be removed immediately. He cares not where they go, just that they go, so his home remains neat and tidy continuously. He wants to live as if the leaves do not exist.

Others rake or blow their leaves into neat piles on the curb and wait for the city to take them away. The leaves, for these neighbors, are necessary nuisances that must be tolerated until they are removed and life can go on.

Then there are “the mulchers,” those who don’t see leaves as debris to be whisked away or nuisances to be tolerated, but as potential food. They grind the leaves into little pieces and  scattered them over the lawn where they eventually become food for the soil. Their approach is the messiest, but it’s also the healthiest.

Like trees, we live through different seasons. We celebrate the joy and excitement of new life just like we do when trees bring forth leaves and blossoms again. Whether a new job, project, or relationship, it’s easy to dance when all is new. Such a dance is more challenging when the leaves begin to fall and flowers blow away. Yes, to everything there is a season, but how we handle the change in seasons says a lot about our approach to life.

There are those of us who long to deny the leaves. We pay a lot to have them whisked away, as if they never existed, so our homes appear neat and tidy throughout the year.

Others tolerate the leaves, seeing them as necessary nuisances to be endured. They blow or rake them into neat piles, as if to contain or control the mess, and wait for them to be taken away so they can get on with their lives.

Then there are the mulchers, people who not only accept the leaves, but also see them as potential food, if only they take the time to grind them into little pieces and scatter them on their lawns. It is then that death becomes life, mistakes become experience, and ignorance becomes wisdom. It’s a messy way to live, but it’s the healthiest.