Listening in.

I recently attended a twelve-step recovery meeting where a gentleman spoke of his very special Big Book.* It originally belonged to his brother and was filled with underlined phrases and notes scribbled in the margins. It was as if his brother was guiding him down the path of sober living. Given he died a few years earlier, the guidance was all the more poignant. “The words are like fingers pointing the way,” his brother described. “It’s like he’s whispering in my ear.”

 “Pay attention to this.”

“I know exactly what this feels like!” 

“Could be describing my life.”

“Boy is this true!”

I couldn’t help but think of the Bible and how similar its books are to the one being described in the meeting. It, too, was written to pass along important information. Its authors were emphatic and made sure to point out when we should pay particular attention. They, too, did this to point the way for those who would come after.

To read the Bible in this way seems to make it more personal. Frederick Buechner described it as a group of people standing outside while people like you and I look down from windows above. Those outside see something they desperately want us to see.  They point and shout, hoping we will get a sense of what is beyond our sight. Sometimes the voices are confusing, the gestures distracting, but their emphatic efforts are like fingers pointing the way down the path of faith. They want us to know what they know.

Too often the Bible is worshiped and not read. Described as “The Word of God,” we lose the sense that it has come through people like you and me, people who, like the original owner of the Big Book, have lived life and come to learn important things. They have seen things they want us to see. They have describe life beyond our vision. We need to pay attention to what is underlined and the scribbled in the margins. It’s like they’re whispering in our ears.

* The Big Book is the general text of Alcoholics Anonymous

Advent II: For Behold . . .

The next phrase is almost as challenging as the first. As if unfolding their hands to show something of great worth, they say:  “Look!” . . .”You won’t believe this!” . . . “Hold on tight, everything in the world is about to change.” It must have been an amazing moment. The challenge comes not from understanding what they were saying, but doing it.

We live in a time when we can observe vast galaxies and tiny atoms, and yet we have all but lost our ability to see. We attend church dutifully and speak of the lovely flowers, but miss the daughter trying to cuddle during the sermon. We schedule Christmas parties for each weekend night in December instead of making a fire and telling family stories. We bemoan the holiday season with all its commercialism, as we join the parade to max-out our credit cards, instead of looking for innovative ways to say "I love you."

The angels had it right: Behold!

God is coming.

God is here.

Way back when, and right this minute.

All we need are eyes to see.

Maybe we've forgotten how to look.

Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong places.

I don’t think theirs were words of judgment or chastisement. I think they were trying to awaken us, to remind us. They knew better than we, if we open our eyes, our hearts will follow. Who knows, we might find God sitting right beside us.

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.