Peace
This post came out of the mini-sermon I gave at church this morning because the pastor wasn't feeling well at the last minute. It is based on the scriptures from the Revised Common Lectionary for this week: Psalm 85, Isaiah 40:1-11, 2 Peter 3:8-15a, and Mark 1:1-8.
Recently with my students we read an article that talked about how happiness isn't only a function of what we have and experience in the present, but also highly dependent on our expectations for the future. People with moderate income, according to the article, are happier if they have reliable expectation for continued job security and raises at regular intervals.
Let me tell you, I am a total believer in the power of hopeful expectation for the future to improve my mood in and outlook on the present. I love surprizes. I savor them. I especially love when I know a surprize is coming. If I can get through the ensuing ordinary, something extraordinary is on its way.
And I totally love Advent. The time between the holidays of Thanksgiving and CHristmas is one of my favorite times of year. Despite the difficult of this time. Despite the unpredictable weather, despite the mountains of end of semester grading, despite the annoying consumerism, despite the cleaning, despite the shopping. I love Advent.
Each reading from Isaiah, each pile of presents for Toys for Tots, each Salvation Army bell ringer, each Christmas card on my wall reminds me that the surprize at the end of this stretch of difficult isn't just extraordinary; it's miraculous. It's the word made flesh. It's the divine made human. It's the holiest of holies in the humblest of places. It's Christmas!
There is excitement in anticipation, but in this case, there is a certain peace in the anticipation as well. We do Advent and Christmas every year. We know that every year, at the year's darkest point, the light comes back again. We know, becasue it happenned last year and the year before and the year before that.
The speaker of Isaiah's passage this morning says that "people are like grass, their constancy is like the flowers of the field." He says it in a derogatory way, meaning, "Why should I bother to preach to these humans. They'll pay attention for, like, 5 minutes and then turn away. Again." And God says to that cynic, "Go anyway." Because God measures things differently. "A thousand years are but a day, and a day is like a thousand years." God knows that we are like the grass and the flowers of the field. We aren't constant. We are incapable of being constant, but we are persistent. We wilt, wither, and fall away. We fall prey to doubt and darkness, but we always come back.
The cynical voice in Isaiah obviously did not belong to a gardener, because a gardener would know how persistent grass is. It may go dormant for a while in the winter, but in the spring, it comes right back, and it spreads.
It seems to me that there is a certain peace to be found in acknowledging and accepting this cycle of faith-doubt-renewal in our own lives. It mimics the annual cycles of plants and of sunlight and darkness. For each of us, the cycle is different and it can be variable. Maybe you have a time of year that is difficult for you. A time when a loss remembered makes it tough to keep your faith and enthusiasm. Or maybe the stresses of the ordinary and the difficult are just too much to handle sometimes.
Find peace in the knowledge that it is part of a cycle. Sometimes your faith may falter. The grass does, too, so do the flowers. But you know what? They come back, and your faith will, too. Trust in the roots you've laid down: your foundation in the bedrock of Christ.
Those dark hours in our lives are Advents. They are times of preparation and transition. And miraculous moments await us at the end of every one. When you find yourself in an Advent, embrace it. Find peace in the knowledge that it is a call for you to prepare. You know how to handle Advent; you do it every year. Prepare the way. Get ready for the miracle. It is coming.
Recently with my students we read an article that talked about how happiness isn't only a function of what we have and experience in the present, but also highly dependent on our expectations for the future. People with moderate income, according to the article, are happier if they have reliable expectation for continued job security and raises at regular intervals.
Let me tell you, I am a total believer in the power of hopeful expectation for the future to improve my mood in and outlook on the present. I love surprizes. I savor them. I especially love when I know a surprize is coming. If I can get through the ensuing ordinary, something extraordinary is on its way.
And I totally love Advent. The time between the holidays of Thanksgiving and CHristmas is one of my favorite times of year. Despite the difficult of this time. Despite the unpredictable weather, despite the mountains of end of semester grading, despite the annoying consumerism, despite the cleaning, despite the shopping. I love Advent.
Each reading from Isaiah, each pile of presents for Toys for Tots, each Salvation Army bell ringer, each Christmas card on my wall reminds me that the surprize at the end of this stretch of difficult isn't just extraordinary; it's miraculous. It's the word made flesh. It's the divine made human. It's the holiest of holies in the humblest of places. It's Christmas!
There is excitement in anticipation, but in this case, there is a certain peace in the anticipation as well. We do Advent and Christmas every year. We know that every year, at the year's darkest point, the light comes back again. We know, becasue it happenned last year and the year before and the year before that.
The speaker of Isaiah's passage this morning says that "people are like grass, their constancy is like the flowers of the field." He says it in a derogatory way, meaning, "Why should I bother to preach to these humans. They'll pay attention for, like, 5 minutes and then turn away. Again." And God says to that cynic, "Go anyway." Because God measures things differently. "A thousand years are but a day, and a day is like a thousand years." God knows that we are like the grass and the flowers of the field. We aren't constant. We are incapable of being constant, but we are persistent. We wilt, wither, and fall away. We fall prey to doubt and darkness, but we always come back.
The cynical voice in Isaiah obviously did not belong to a gardener, because a gardener would know how persistent grass is. It may go dormant for a while in the winter, but in the spring, it comes right back, and it spreads.
It seems to me that there is a certain peace to be found in acknowledging and accepting this cycle of faith-doubt-renewal in our own lives. It mimics the annual cycles of plants and of sunlight and darkness. For each of us, the cycle is different and it can be variable. Maybe you have a time of year that is difficult for you. A time when a loss remembered makes it tough to keep your faith and enthusiasm. Or maybe the stresses of the ordinary and the difficult are just too much to handle sometimes.
Find peace in the knowledge that it is part of a cycle. Sometimes your faith may falter. The grass does, too, so do the flowers. But you know what? They come back, and your faith will, too. Trust in the roots you've laid down: your foundation in the bedrock of Christ.
Those dark hours in our lives are Advents. They are times of preparation and transition. And miraculous moments await us at the end of every one. When you find yourself in an Advent, embrace it. Find peace in the knowledge that it is a call for you to prepare. You know how to handle Advent; you do it every year. Prepare the way. Get ready for the miracle. It is coming.
Kate, what a beautiful post. Where did you get this article? It sounds fascinating. I'd love to read it and discuss.
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