Advent I: Clearing the airways.

I was recently in a home that had a Bluetooth speaker system. I strutted about with my phone in my pocket playing my favorite music for all to hear. That is, until I walked to a place where a stone fireplace blocked the signal. The music began to break up and static filled the air. I quickly realized what the problem was and moved to where nothing stood between my phone and the stereo, and the music returned.

As I began thinking about the season of Advent, which begins this Sunday, I realized that one of the purposes of Advent is to clear the airwaves. Those of us who consider themselves spiritual people believe a connection between God and ourselves is possible, as illusive or mysterious as it sometimes feels. Over time, however, things like the big stone fireplace get in between us and suddenly the signal begins breaking up and static fills the air. 

The obstacles come in many shapes and sizes. A packed schedule can certainly stand in the way, so can a cell phone that’s glued to our ear or ever before our eyes. Unhealthy relationships or seeking the wrong person’s approval can distract us, just as unhealthy habits can. 

Advent is a time to look at what blocks the signal. It is a time to listen anew and move to where the signal is stronger, or remove what’s standing in the way. 

The good news is, with renewed effort, the signal returns and we can, as it is said in the Christmas season, “hear, again, the song of angels.”

Extra Credit:

Listen for God’s voice. Is the signal clear, or is it breaking up? What stands in the way, and what steps can you take (today, this week, this season) to clear the airways between you and God?

Like the others.

Silly Israel! 

After God had chosen his people and given to them a land flowing in milk and honey, they still longed for more. It wasn’t enough to have a home of their own, nor to live in communion with God. No, they wanted something else. Looking at other nations, they wanted to be like them. Their neighbors had bigger armies, more wealth, and kings to lead them. 

“We want to be like them,” they cried to Samuel, a priest.

“But that’s not who you were created to be,” he replied. “You were created to be different, a nation under God.”

“They’re not,” they demanded. “We want to be like them.”

So, with great reluctance, God allowed them the freedom to become who they wanted to be. A king was crowned, a mighty army established, and, for a time, the economy seemed to explode.

“See,” they boasted. “It’s proof that this is God’s will!”

The Priests listened and walked away with great sorrow. They could see what the others could not. They knew God sought a different kind of nation, one that lived in communion, or friendship, with Him, and lived in a way consistent with that relationship. It would change the way they teated one another, the world itself, and people from other nations.

The new nation soon saw itself as the center of things, and placed God off to the side. Everything was measured as to whether it benefitted, or hurt, the nation, and their new nationalism gave them enormous pride. They refused to listen to those who spoke out against the new nation, the ones who pointed out the inconsistencies between they were living and the faith they professed. “You’re nothing but false prophets,” they exclaimed at the nay sayers.

As the people hoped, the nation became a nation like all the others. Some saw this and shouted cries of delight. Others wept.

Silly Israel

All Saints Day

I don’t know how all this works. I really don’t. People think ministers have some secret knowledge, or direct access to answers about the mysteries of life, God, and how the two interact. Some may, but not me. When I think of my faith, I don’t think of a rock discovered, a sure and certain place on which to stand. Rather, my faith is more like a dream I’m desperate to catch.

The dream that swirls just beyond my grasp is that there’s a God who created this world and loves each and every one of us like a parent. Despite all the ways we mess up, God still loves us and always will. No exceptions. No qualifiers. It’s a dream that extends beyond this mortal life and includes the ages, or eternity, on the other side of the grave. I have no idea what that life on the other side will be like, and I am suspicious of anyone who tells me they do, and yet I reach for the dream because my heart needs it to be true. When close my eyes and think of all the people I’ve lost, I pray the dream is true. 

As a child I thought of heaven as a place, a place we enter and everyone we’ve lost is waiting at the gates to greet us as the long-lost children we’ve been. Because of the household I grew up in, I thought of heaven as a big party where everyone is laughing and loving each other while singing songs around a piano. I guess we all use our idea of happiness and make heaven like that. Regardless of how naive my vision may be, I trust the words of the great hymn, “we feebly struggle, they in glory shine.”

So, on this All Saints Day, I reach up once again and try to catch the dream. I close my eyes and pray that, in some way, the dream is true. I listen for the piano and all the happy voices signing, believing, one day, I will be singing with them.