Precarious

 Thursday of the Second Week of Advent
 
If they stumble, they shall not fall headlong,
for the Lord holds them by the hand.
Psalm 37:25

 

I take my steps hesitantly. The stairs down from my friend’s porch are wide and sturdy; nevertheless, I find I feel somewhat uncertain because while the steps are broad, the handrail is out of reach. When did my balance become so precarious?
 
As a child, stumbling into a fall meant a skinned knee. As a mature (ahem) adult, the consequences are scarier. Yet, at the same time, my stumbles in my spiritual life seem less hazardous than when I was younger. Now I know that God is there every time. Even when I doubt.

The way to the manger is both certain and precarious. 

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay

In the midst

Wednesday of the Second Week of Advent

My soul melts away for sorrow;
strengthen me according to your word.
Psalm 119:28

I pick up a handful of dirt outside the mausoleum. It has rained recently, so the earth is damp and clumps a bit. We gather for the final prayers and I release the dirt from my hand, slowly scattering it onto the coffin. A small ritual marking a momentous rift.

Again and again I travel within the landscape of grief; sometimes it is my own, sometimes I am accompanying others, often is startles me with its unaccountable timing and intensity. Sorrow can be numbing, cleansing, overwhelming, necessary, inexplicable, healing.

The prophets pave the Advent way with reminders that mourning is not our end. I hold fast to these words of comfort--about putting away the garments of sorrow, about being gathered home, about being cherished by the Almighty. The Word is coming, and is already here. The Holy One is in the midst of us. 

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Path of faithfulness

Monday of the Second Week of Advent
 
All the paths of the Lord are love and faithfulness
to those who keep his covenant and testimonies.
Psalm 25:9
 

The day dawns and remains grey which seems to match my own slowness of spirit. 
 
The Advent cry of making the way straight, of filling in valleys and leveling mountains,  evokes in me a yearning for the smooth path. Of a spiritual journey that does not include the ups and downs. Of progress that continues unabated. Of a way forward that requires less effort, where despondency is not a roadblock and I do not stumble.
 
Yet, so often, the obstacles in my path do more than call me up short; they increase my understanding of God’s love, forgiveness, gentleness. According to the prophet Baruch this leveling of ground is so that we may walk safely in the glory of God. I think that safe and easy are not always the same thing.
 
I wrap my shawl more closely around me against the winter day, and I pull close to me also God’s promise of love and faithfulness.

Detaching

Saturday of the First Week of Advent 

Some put their trust in chariots and some in horses,

but we will call upon the Name of the Lord our God

Psalm 20:7

As I scan the store aisles, I have to coach myself into calmness. Shopping this time of year can be a fight for my soul. It is difficult not to be pulled into the advertising frenzy. I am surrounded by shimmering appeals telling me what I want. What my family wants. What love looks like. Telling me things will be scarce so I need to act quickly. Increasing my heart-rate, but doing nothing for my sense of well-being.

Advent is set aside for preparation because it takes time and attentiveness to get ready for the Savior. Preparing space in our hearts and lives does not happen with the flip of a switch. For me, the Advent journey seems to always include intentionally detaching myself from the misleading claims of power and once more putting my trust in God.

Disrupted time

Friday in the First Week of Advent

My footsteps hold fast to the ways of your law;

in your paths my feet shall not stumble.

Psalm 17:5

As I complete my transaction at my local pharmacy, the person at the counter offers me a free wall calendar. I hesitate for a moment, and then the man waiting behind me says, “How else will you know what day it is?”

How else indeed. But will this calendar be enough? I would have to dependably cross off each day to keep track of where I am. Because, still, after almost two years, I find my sense of time disrupted.

Advent too is a time of disruption. The scripture readings for this season offer visions of doom and prophecies of hope. Themes of devastation and restoration ride in tandem, and before we get to the joy of the manger, we must join John the Baptist in making straight the way.

Holy way, holy disruption, holy time. I do not need to keep track of time or of God. It is the One we await who keeps hold of me.

Open space

Thursday of the First Week of Advent

The Lord brought me out into an open place,
and rescued me because the Holy One delighted in me.
Psalm 18:20

I slow my breathing as I less-than-gracefully ease into my yoga practice. The day has been simultaneously ordinary and hectic and I know I need this restorative time. I listen to the sure and soothing voice of my friend and teacher as she guides us through transitions from one posture to the next.

If only I had been this attentive to the transitions of my day. It began with holy conversation and prayer, yet I soon began to pick up burdens along the way. I’m pretty sure I am not meant to prepare the Advent way by collecting every rock I stumble over.

My body and soul hold on to so much. Clearing the path for the coming of Christ requires letting go. 

I deepen my breathing. I slow my movements. I still myself in the space opened by sacred encounter. Until the holding releases into resting and I am at peace.

Treasuring tenacity

Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

I treasure your promise in my heart,
that I may not sin against you.
Psalm 119:11

As evening comes I await that moment  when I can set down my work for the day and just be. I have spent the day going to and fro without much in-between time. I am still unused to this busyness, this return to more movement that has come as we learn to navigate the territory of pandemic. Which on some days is not navigable at all.

Yet, even on the days I laugh out loud at the doctor’s office when asked if I am experiencing any feelings of sadness or despair, I know that I am not completely lost; that all is not lost. God’s promise of love and redemption remains firm, withstands all assaults of numbing and indifference.

And in the space of inaction I wend my way inward, gently probing my heart to assure myself that the treasure remains. That despite my falling short, my missing the mark, my sinfulness, tenacious hope holds fast, refusing to die.