Advent IV: Misspellings

It’s has always been an annual source of embarrassment. Made in third grade, I thought it was something special. I couldn’t wait to give it to my parents for Christmas and remember squirming in my seat as they opened it years ago. My mother lifted it from the wrapped box and held it up for my father and siblings to see. I was proud, until I hear the first snicker. “You spelt Christmas wrong!” someone pointed out. My face turned red, my pride withered, and I wanted to crawl from the room.

The cracker holder now belongs to me. Each year I bring it out and remember not that moment of embarrassment and shame so much as the way my mother displayed it proudly every year. She unpacked it from the Christmas decoration boxes with reverence, as if it was a sacred relic. In her hands, the imperfect cracker holder looked wonderful. “Don’t you dare!” she said loud and clear when I suggested correcting the misspelling. She didn’t just not mind the misspelling, she cherished it. “It’s what makes it you,” she reminded me often. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

The imperfect cracker holder has become special to me, too. Rather than being a reminder of my poor spelling ability, it reminds me of a parent’s love despite my imperfection. She didn’t ignore the imperfection, she embraced it. The misspelling is what made it unique, personal, genuine. No wonder she lifted it from the box the way she did each year.

I think God’s the same way. Despite our best efforts to conceal them, we are full of imperfections. God does not ignore them or look the other direction. He lifts and holds each of us like a sacred relic, smiling as only a parent can at the things that make us unique. In God’s hands, all our imperfections and things we’re embarrassed by look wonderful. I think, deep down, that’s why a child was born years ago. That’s why God didn’t wait until we got our acts together before taking his seat beside us in this thing called life. Despite our best (and continuous) efforts to hide or correct our imperfections, Christmas is a time to celebrate God coming among us and loving us the way we are.

Advent III: Fear Not!

Fear not! 

The words must have seemed like a joke. How could they be anything but fearful? One moment, they’re watching their flock by night. The next, they’re on their way to Bethlehem. I’m sure they were petrified as they walked toward that star, but fear is always the gateway, or doorway, to something new - particularly when it’s a relationship with God.

The shepherds weren’t the first frightened sojourners, of course. Abraham and Sarah had to conquer their fear. Moses, too. The list is long, maybe endless, and it would be easy to focus on all the fear and not what lies on the other side of that fear. Each courageous seeker found a deeper, more personal relationship with God, but first they had to wrestle with fear.

The words of the angels echo today, but maybe not in such dramatic ways. The person who leaves her high-paying job to follow a life-long dream of serving others can hear the angels: fear not! The student who decides not to follow his peers because of his emerging faith can also hear the angels: fear not! The couple who suddenly has to face an unexpected illness: fear not! The person who decides to live life without ever drinking again: fear not!

God is waiting for each of them, just as God is waiting for each of us. He may not be lying in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes, but He’s waiting just the same. All we have to do (and it’s a lot) is fear not. We need to take comfort that others have blazed the trail; we’re standing at a well-worn threshold. On the other side of our fear, there’s good news which shall be to all people, for unto us, this day (and tomorrow, and the next day) God’s waiting, wrapped in our ordinary lives. Like a baby, God’s waiting to be held. Like a parent, God’s waiting to hold.

Fear not!

Advent II: Darkness and Light

There’s no getting around darkness. Pushing the hands of a clock back an hour doesn’t help. The days still seem shorter and the sun more reluctant to rise at this time of year. It’s not what anyone wants, but it’s what we’re given. This Advent, I’m beginning to see the value of the darkness. I don’t like it, but I can now see the important spiritual lesson it’s teaching, if I have “eyes to see.” 

Because we are waiting for Christmas, that day (season) when we celebrate God’s presence in the world and our lives, it is fitting that we wrestle with darkness. Yes, it’s all around us. There’s no getting around it. Whether in the news, our homes, or our hearts, the sun can sometimes seem particularly low in the shy at this time of year. Rather than wish the darkness away, Advent is an opportunity to accept the darkness - to stop and examine it and see what it’s trying to get us to see: God’s light, like a candle in a dark room, shines brighter in darkness.

Life makes more sense, or feels more manageable, when we arrange things in neat and tidy boxes - good here and bad there, happy here, sad there – but the wonder of our faith is that it’s bigger than any boxes we create. Everything belongs, as Richard Rohr famously reminded us . . . that means the good as well as the bad, the darkness as well as the light. As hard as we may try to embrace one and push the other aside, Advent is time to hold them both together.

In John’s Gospel, we are reminded that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. Those are particularly comforting words at this time of year when darkness abounds. It doesn’t say the darkness goes away, just that the light is stronger.

I’m not sure there’s better news than that.