Rejoice in the Lord… Making your path straight (The 3rd Sunday of Advent)

 

“Shout for joy, O daughter Zion!

Sing joyfully… the Lord is in your midst,

you have no further misfortune to fear…

The Lord, your God, is in your midst…

He will rejoice over your with gladness…

He will sing joyfully because of you…”

--Zephaniah 3:14-18

 

“Rejoice in the Lord always.

I shall say it again, rejoice!”

--Philippians 4:4-7

 

Last week the readings for the 2^nd Sunday of Advent encouraged us to make a straight path, and there was a sense that this was the point of—a time of straightening our path, straightening our houses, straightening our hearts, in preparation for a special visit.  In some sense, at this time of year, our daily lives become a kind of practice for this Advent lesson.  We rush around preparing ourselves and our homes for visitors, straightening up rooms, straightening up the yard, the path from the driveway to the front door, the path from the front door to the living room and the dinner table. We pick up dirty laundry, put way half read books and unfinished puzzles, unread mail gets piled up in a closet, and the cat litter boxes get scooped and cleaned and fresh filter. The path through the hallway to the bathroom gets swept and lightbulbs that have flickered for months or gone out weeks ago suddenly get changed. Everything is freshened, straightened up—we say. Rooms are vacuumed and cleaned, even the lamp shades get dusted …  We are filling in those valleys we have allowed to form, and mountains (of laundry, old mail, dishes) are suddenly made low.   In a very literal sense, Advent is a time of making straight and smoothing out the rough ways.  But why? Because we are expecting someone, a visitor, a friend or family member, perhaps even a stranger or two –your sister’s new fiancé, or your brother’s college roommate, somebody from work is stopping by--with their spouse…  And sometimes all of this preparation and rushing around can feel exhausting, overwhelming, taking the fun and the magic out of the season, leaving us drained and feeling more like a humbug than a herald angel who may or may not sing.  

 

And yet, this week, on the third Sunday of Advent, we have an added instruction: Rejoice!  And just so we get the message, it’s repeated in the readings, and it is the focus of the day.  The third Sunday of Advent is called “Gaudete” Sunday, which is Latin for rejoice.  And as I ponder making straight my paths, both spiritual and literal, it occurs to me that prayer and fasting and changes of behavior and appetite are important, but perhaps the most important change we have to make is in our attitude.  We have to stop looking at this whole God thing –our relationship with Him—as fear based, as if God was out to get us.  According to Zephaniah, the only way God is out to “get” us is to sing joyfully because of us.  God loves us, wants to spend eternity with us… rejoicing.

 

Have you ever been invited to a holiday party that you didn’t want to go to, but you felt obligated to attend. Perhaps your spouse had a work event, or there was a family gathering, a reunion, a holiday get-together… Whatever it was, think back: did you feel uncomfortable? Or did you feel at ease? Did you feel resentful or did you feel joyful?   And how did that attitude affect the party? Your behavior at the party? Did you try to put on a happy face and “grin and bear it?” Or did you (like I too often do) try to find a corner where you could hide with a cup of cider and a plate of cheese?

 

All around me people are chatting, laughing, talking –some even singing—and I am huddled on the edge of a couch with my little plate of cheeses and a wadded napkin that I keep unwadding to dab at some imagined crumb in my beard or on my lips. Trying to look pleasant, and yet desperately hoping not to be seen. And completely miserable. 

 

That discomfort and that constant self-awareness… That is a kind of Hell for me.

 

But does it have to be?

 

What if I made a straight path not for the cheese tray, but for the first person I see, even if it is someone I have never met before?  What if, instead of treating the party as an obligation, I rejoiced that I was invited. And what if I let that joy become my calling card, my greeting to anyone and everyone I met—whether I know them or not. What if I simply rejoiced, and let myself be seen? What if I took myself and my ego less seriously and let myself laugh and smile, be silly, be uncomfortable, and even occasionally embarrassed—and didn’t worry about what anyone thought about me or my cheese?

 

Well, what could happen?  Well…

 

One, I might find myself becoming more approachable —creating a kind of straight path for someone else to escape their own discomfort, for them to find someone to talk with, someone to laugh with or share their stories with, perhaps even someone they can rejoice with.

 

Two, it might allow God to work through me, to reveal through me the joy He feels whenever 2 or more are gathered…

 

Three, perhaps the best way for any of us to make a straighter path for God to enter into our lives, is to become more and more like Him. every day.  And perhaps the first step, the most important step, has nothing to do with rules or laws or even creeds and practices, but with our attitude.

 

But what does that mean? What does it look like in daily life? All smiling through the hard times and laughing off the struggles? Or just smooth sailing. No worries. Let a smile be your umbrella! Probably not.  Think about Mary and Joseph, given glad tidings by an angel, called to rejoice, but what happened next? No room at the inn, baby born in a stable, sent fleeing for their lives by Herod’s army, years in Egypt living in exile, and then her Son, the good news that the angel proclaimed, is cursed and called a madman by neighbors and friends, accused of blasphemy, abused by the powerful, and finally betrayed and crucified.  This rejoicing thing doesn’t sound like milk and cookies. It might be hard work, it might require a little more effort than simply turning your frown upside down.  Habits are hard to break. If –like me—you have a habit of trying to avoid crowds and hide with a book (or some cheese), you may find the Christmas season a little more challenging than merry and bright.  And yet, all we can do is try. Try to be joyful. Maybe that’s why Paul says it a second time: “Again I say rejoice.”  He’s reminding us, don’t give up! There is nothing more to fear…Just open the door. God will do the rest.

And if we need an example, someone to look to when we are struggling to rejoice, let us look to Mary. Ask yourself, how did Mary handle things when they got too big, too strange, too hard? She pondered them in her heart (cf. Luke 1:29; 2:19; 2:51).  And perhaps that is how we must handle things too. Perhaps that is how we train ourselves to rejoice. We train our hearts and minds to ponder, to contemplate, to allow the seed of God’s grace to be planted within us and give it time to grow, nourishing the soil of our soul with contemplation and pondering.  If something makes us uncomfortable, or anxious, let us ponder why. Perhaps, and let us ask God to open our eyes to the joy He is planting within us, the joy He feels at being in our presence—even when things aren’t going well, or at least not like we planned, or hoped.  Let us spend time pondering why we are afraid, and where we might discern God’s presence—even in what frightens us.  For me, that might mean looking for God’s presence in a stranger at the party, in the face of a stranger at the mall, or the eyes of an old friend I haven’t seen for years. In those moment of discomfort and challenge, where do I find God? And how?  That is worth pondering. And that is the path to joy.

This year, whether I am at the school Christmas party or the neighbor’s holiday gathering, or eating tamales with family I rarely see, when I get that urge to excuse myself and hide, I just need to take a moment to ponder and remember: There is nothing to fear. God is already here. With me. Right here. Right now. In this moment, and in these people. In fact, He is with me always…

 And even when times get tough, that is a reason for rejoicing.

What are you most afraid of…? (a meditation for the first week of Advent, 2024)

 

What are you afraid of? What is your biggest fear? I think the somewhat frightening Gospel from the 1st Sunday of Advent was asking us to turn away from our fears and look at something else... To see not with eyes of fear and anxiety, but through the eyes of Love. Here are some thoughts on fear and the first week of Advent. Please let me know what you think, and how God helps you with your own fears.

“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars,
and on earth nations will be in dismay, perplexed
by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will die
of fright in anticipation of what is coming upon the world…”
--Luke 20:25-28

It seems to me a strange reading for this time of joyful anticipation, but here at the start of Advent as most of us look forward to Christmas, the church gives us a gospel reading about fear and anxiety and what sounds like the end of the world. That is a very interesting liturgical choice, and one worth pondering. Why? With everyone recovering from Thanksgiving and looking forward to Christmas, why not choose a hopeful reading from the Nativity story?

And yet, as I have spent time with this little conundrum, I have found myself wondering:

What am I afraid of?

And how does that fear eat away at my peace? How am I letting it take my life? Bit by bit, moment by moment, am I too dying from fear?

More than heights, or math teachers, I think my biggest fear is rejection.

Fear of feeling unwanted, unnecessary, perhaps even unlovable. For me, a lot of this is wrapped up in ego. Growing up, I desperately wanted to be attractive; wanted to be one of those boys all the girls called cute or handsome. Like Johnny Quest, or Davy Jones from the Monkees! And yet—that was not what fate or genetics had in store for me. Two formative moments from my younger days haunt me still: first, when I was just a scrawny little 8 year old, I was standing in a dressing room at the Craig’s store, trying on a pair of hip-huggers, and imagining I looked as cool as one of the Archies, I overheard the salesman say to my mother: He's got hips like a girl. And my mother say: Yes. I guess he does. I have never forgotten that little exchange. I wasn’t quite sure what it meant at the time, but every time I see my own shadow I glance at my hips. And the second is the time a college girlfriend told me I looked better with a beard, because I didn’t have much of a chin.

I may not be able to do much about my “hips,” but I’ve kept my beard ever since.

Even after 36 years of marriage the fear of being rejected or unwanted, still haunts me. It’s like I am constantly waiting for someone (my wife even) to say: Who invited you? Whatever we fear, small or large, it always feels like the end of the world. It may just destroy our peace of mind, but even that can feel like a mini-apocalypse.

In some ways this fear has continued to rule my life. Even without thinking about it, I continue to live in it… Afraid to make a mistake, afraid of my own shadow, always hoping to ingratiate myself, to demonstrate my worth… Hoping to be noticed and to be told I'm worthy, maybe even "cute." Yet always afraid, and always certain, what I am is never enough.

When I think about this reading, and my own fears, I begin to realize at the heart of all fear is a lack of trust. I don’t trust gravity, so I am afraid of mountain tops and air travel; I don’t trust numbers, so I am afraid of math teachers; I don’t trust my own worth, so I am afraid of rejection. I don’t trust the love of God… so I am afraid…

But Jesus has an answer to this, to the problem of fear. Actually, Jesus is the answer. The sacrifice of the cross is the true sign of our worth. Of God’s love. Jesus died because—in God’s eyes-- I was worth it. You were worth it. We –all of us—despite our failings, or maybe not despite—maybe because of… we are worth it. We are loved. This isn’t a test. Your suffering, your sorrow, your pain, your fear… It isn’t a test. You may be going through something terrible, hard, even frightening, but the truth is we know how this story ends: In love.

   “…when these signs begin to happen, stand erect and raise your heads
because your redemption is at hand.” (cf. 21: 28)

Our redemption is at hand; just beyond the signs, the earth-shaking, the waves and the political turmoil, the chaos and suffering, just beyond the darkness of Calvary, there is a new day dawning. Stand erect, hold your head up… Look for it. It is there. The Resurrection.

But, of course, in the moment we may still be tempted to hide. We may still doubt our own worth, or whether we are up to the challenges ahead. That is part of our brokenness. And we must bring even that, our fears and our doubts, our weaknesses and our addictions, our ugliness and our emptiness and lay them before the Cross.

It isn’t easy, but then again neither is birth (ask any mother, or look at any newborn baby). But it is the only way… No haircut or make-up or new pair of hip-huggers is going to heal my own self-image. No matter how popular I may or may not be, the doubt and the self-image still haunt me. And so, instead of letting them control my life, I need to stand erect, look up –not down at my own shadow—but at the eye of the one who never looks away, the one who Created me, the one who sees all that He created and says: It is good.

There are bigger fears, I know, but the truth is that whatever fear we have, whatever fate we anxiously await, we are not alone, and whatever happens to us—we were made for this! I was not made to be another Davy Jones, I was made to be me. To live this life, to feel these fears and dream these dreams, even cry these tears, and finally to become the kind of blessing only I can be.

Whatever that looks like in the mirror, in God’s eyes it is always something beautiful to see.

On becoming a star--It's in your job description--Just ask John the Baptist

 

Advent 2023

 

“A man named John was sent from God.
He came for testimony, to testify to the light,
so that all might believe through him. 
He was not the light, but came to testify to the light.”
–John 1: 6-8

 

 

Sitting on my front porch, reading the Gospel of John, I was struck by this familiar verse. I heard something new this morning hat I had not heard before: a job description!  This is John the Baptist’s job description.  His job was to testify to the light.  To tell the world what he knew to be true, so that all might believe. Very simple, very straightforward; no complex language about quotas or expectations, no official title, no qualifications, no list of duties—and no terms of severance.  Just the simple and straightforward, open-ended call to testify to the light, with the goal that “all” might believe.

 

Basically John’s job was to be a Burma-Shave sign (a Buc-ees sign for you youngsters out there). He was called to be a road sign pointing the way to The Light. That’s it.  And it occurred to me that his job description doesn’t just apply to John the Baptist.  Doesn’t it actually apply to all of us? Isn’t that the job description of every Christian? We are all called to be a testimony to the Light—to the love of God, to the saving grace of Christ. How we do it isn’t described, isn’t spelled out. Some people may do it through words, others through fasting and prayers, and still others through lives of sacrifice and service.  But the plain truth is we are all called to testify to the light—to live as a sign for others, that they might believe.

 

For most of us, our testimony may go unseen by the vast majority of the world around us.  Our testimony is one of patience and kindness to a stranger: standing in line at the pharmacy, we smile and speak a gentle word to the young mother struggling with her fussing child, or we speak a word of encouragement and cheer to the UPS delivery guy putting packages at our door. Maybe your testimony is to get up at 3 in the morning and walk with a crying baby so that your spouse can sleep. Maybe your testimony is not just to give a $20 bill to the homeless person asking for money, but to also ask his or her name, and to give them your name. Maybe even shake hands and let them know that you will pray for them.  Let them know they are seen, they matter.  

 

For so many of us, our testimony will never make it into a book or even be remembered much beyond the moment, but it will be a testimony, and it will plant a seed, and it may be that when we are all gathered together into that Light, into the Kingdom we call Heaven—you will be greeted by someone you don’t remember, but they will remember you, and that one little act of kindness that lit a spark in their soul... that testimony of love.

 

There is one more thing this little passage reminds me of, especially at Christmas time. And that is a certain star. We see it on so many Christmas cards, but do we ever ponder what it means? It is shining there, above a stable, above a manger, showing us the way.  For the wise-men, that star was a kind of testimony, a road sign, guiding them on their journey.  But even with all its splendor and glory, it wasn’t the actual goal, it was just a sign—a flashing neon testimony to something far greater: a homeless, cold, and exhausted child sleeping in a manger. As we unwrap presents and prepare our holiday tables, let us remember that; the true gift of Christmas is God come to us in the form of a helpless child. Remembering that, pondering it, living it... it will give your life a radiance that will shine for others. It may not get you mentioned at the next Academy Awards or Music Awards, but it can definitely make you a star.  Just ask John the Baptist.