Wild Preparations
By: The Rev. Brenda Sol
Since Christmas displays went up a week or so before Halloween this year, I really resonated with a quote I read the other day. One of the SSJE brothers wrote:
…we [want] our Christmas trees earlier and earlier each year. But we have been called to redemption. We cannot follow the way of Jesus unless we are willing to look into the heart of darkness and exhibit compassion for those we meet there.[1]
I mean I don’t blame people. There’s so much doom and gloom surrounding us right now, that, of course, we want to move toward the joy promised in the Christmas season. And, yet, if we’re too quick to slide past the Advent message, our Christmas might not be as meaningful. The Brother’s words succinctly wrap-up our instructions: we need to be willing to take note of the darkness, so that we’re ready for redemption, thereby contributing to the redemption of others.
So, let’s break down this Advent season of preparation, a bit more, looking to our scripture readings for the day. In our passage from Luke, the set-up includes the naming of several historical-political figures. The early tellers of this Gospel were intentional about tying the divine in-breaking of Jesus’s incarnation to actual, historical events. The naming of these prestigious figures also makes more obvious the contrast in John’s choice. Born son of Zachariah, and biologically destined for a much more glorified position, John chose, instead, to serve as a prophet of God in a very counter-cultural way—out in the wilderness.
However, some scholars suggest that the word “wilderness”, in relation to John the Baptist, would more accurately have been translated as “wildness”. Rather than a privileged hero, John chooses to live on the margins. His wild existence is untamed by the cultural norms around him. He fends off the status quo, making room for alternative realities. John pronounces he has been called to “prepare the way” for something even more significant.
The same message is reflected in this morning’s canticle, as it states: “In the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
This message has, for eons, been, and continues to be, relevant for humanity. Our take-away is that in order to experience the full wonder of God’s in-breaking, we have to acknowledge the challenges that surround us. We must continue to prepare ourselves, as we face the darkness of the evil at work in the world—even when we’d rather talk—and think—about something more pleasant.
A few months ago, a visiting child brought some of that reality to the Holy Troublemaker's class, which is our Sunday School program for 4-6th graders. As I understand it, the child waited patiently while the teacher introduced the topic of the day, and then as soon as there was a pause, he looked around the circle, and asked the other kids: “What I want to know is, how do you pray, when you don't know what to pray for?”
I don’t know about you, but that’s the kind of profound question I love exploring—to hold the tension between fully understanding the weight of life—while not even knowing how to pray for it all—alongside our belief in the promise of God’s grace and mercy. “How do you pray, when you don't know what to pray for?”.
His query reminds me of another quote. This one is by James Baldwin, who was a writer and civil rights activist. He wrote: "Say yes to life and embrace it wherever it is found. [Life] is found in terrible places.” Those terrible places are the places where we overlook that God’s light and love is there, too.
All our readings, this morning, point to this idea that we are key to bringing God’s light to others. John the Baptist talks about this in terms of repentance and allowing ourselves to be filled with the spirit. There’s a self-emptying that is implied, as we reorient ourselves, so that our focus comes back to God and God’s ways. Likewise, the passage from Malachi explores the idea of preparing our inner life, in terms of purification. In that purification process, the properties of that way of being—the properties that are no longer needed—are released, and the finer, polished version results.
One commentary suggests we might think of this in the same way we make preparations for special guests. Besides sweeping the floor, you might clean the film of gunk from the windows, so your guests will better enjoy the view to your garden. You might decide that the cupboard door, that’s been hanging loose for a few months, will look a lot more inviting if you tighten it up a bit. The preparations become very intentional. You’re not just doing them for the fun of it, you’re taking extra time to intentionally create a sense of welcome and hospitality.
Our inner preparations are also meant to be intentional. It’s a time to take stock of the places where other habits have covered up spiritual practices that used to nurture our faith journey. And, as we get more intentional, and think more about what it would be like to live a “wild existence” that didn’t reside in the status quo, but stood up for the oppressed, and made sacrifices on behalf of those who have less than they need, we remember this is a “practice”. We reorient ourselves back to God so that we get better at keeping our focus on God. But it takes time. It takes practice.
So that same scholar who argued that the point wasn’t that John the Baptist lived out in the wilderness, rather that he lived a wild existence, as he bucked the system, insists we be aware of the distinction between “adventure” and “wildness”. Adventures are just for fun, but John’s wild existence was purposeful.
At the same time, many of us are intentional about our adventures. We go parasailing, or we take a cruise, or walk the Camino, to purposefully step outside our daily lives to invigorate ourselves. I think we do this in an effort to make it easier to make it through the mundaneness—as well as the complexities—of our lives. And there's nothing wrong with that.
In fact, we can apply the same concept to our spiritual lives. How do we intentionally invigorate our spiritual lives? There’s one easy answer. We come here, together, in worship to explore another way of looking at the world. We don’t just do this for a sense of adventure. We do it to refocus on God—to experience the “tender compassion of our God,” and to have our feet be “guided into the way of peace.”
One theologian calls those places in which we dwell—where we’re intentionally living lives of wild existence—as “elsewhere”. He says: “Nowhere becomes somewhere when we wildly surrender to the mystery of God.” Here, in our corporate—or shared—worship, we are elsewhere as we open ourselves to God’s ways.
To assist you in your own wildly intentional Advent preparations, I invite you to join me in the prayer you’ll find at the back of your bulletin. Please pray it with me:
A Prayer[2]
Holy God, be in my mind, that I might let go of all that diminishes the movement of Your spirit within me.
Discerning God, be in my eyes, that I might see You in the midst of all the busyness that fills my life.
Loving God, be in my heart, that I can be open to those I love, to those with whom I share ministry and to the whole Human family.
Gracious God, be in that grace-filled silence that lies deep within me, that I might live in Christ as Christ lives in me. Amen.
[1] Br. Jim Woodrum, https://www.ssje.org/word/
[2] CREDO Prayer written by the Rev. James C. Fenhagen
