Advent 1.6 - Risking for Others

This is from Part 3 of the RevGals Advent Retreat (see sidebar for a beautiful reflection by LutheranChik), a reflection on Joseph and his response to Mary's pregnancy:

. . . whatever Joseph's thoughts and fears...in the end he, like Mary, accepted the angel's challenge to not be afraid. Like Mary, Joseph said "yes" to God. And Joseph said "yes" to Mary in a way that models what it means to be a person for others, someone whose love is willing to take risks on behalf of the lives of other human beings.

And this is for those for whom the church year is beginning and the secular year is coming to a close in a context of terrible sadness and grief:

We can try to be someone for others.

I know of at least two women who have lost/are losing beloved partners this season, leaving them to raise young daughters alone. My father, who has been widowed three times, has told me that it was actually easier when he was younger and had small children to care for than when he was much older and the children and their families were dispersed and caring for themselves. I have the feeling that his definition of "easier" is quite broad and may indicate more about the vagaries of memory than it does about what his reality was, but nevertheless, there it is: trying to be a person for others.

Last year someone told me that it meant a great deal to her to see me in worship leadership during the holidays, knowing that I was experiencing them as she was. I relate that not to pretend that I am some kind of person that I am not, but only to indicate that sometimes in just barely showing up we are people for others, whether we know it or not.

It doesn't sound particularly risky, I suppose, to be the dad who gets up and scrambles eggs every morning after his wife has died, or the leader who opens a Bible at a lectern in a safe and warm church after her child has died. It doesn't sound risky unless you have been there, filled with fear for all of your loved ones and anxiety about the next minute, hour, and day.

For all who are there now: the angel doesn't tell Joseph that it will be easy. The angel tells him that he is called to be a person for others. As are we all.

Spiral ~ or ~ Nebula? (RevGals Virtual Retreat)

I would venture that, like most processes which we are so inclined to structure in linear and hierarchical ways, our relationship with God also might be better understood as a spiral.

Elizabeth Kobler-Ross's work on five stages of grief ~ certainly refined today into an understanding of a process more akin to a spiral. Or, as I recently read as the advice given to another suicide survivor by her counselor: a house, a house with many rooms which one visits in no particular order and with no limit set on time of stay or repetitions.

John Newton's idea of our spiritual journey as movement from desire to conflict to contemplation and peace ~ also, I think, better understood as a spiral, or as a houseful of rooms. Walter Bruggemann's century-later understanding of the Psalms as a journey from orientation to dis-orientation to new orientation ~ the same. And Brueggemann sees in the Pslams a framework for understanding the journey of Jesus.

Does Jesus' journey also spiral?

Truthfully, I am not so convinced of the spiral metaphor any longer, or the house metaphor either. I am thinking more in terms of nebulae. I don't actually know a thing about nebulae other than what I've just read in wikipedia, but the photographs I've seen of them must be well-embedded in my brain because: when I think back over the journey of the last 15 months, the image of a nebula is what comes to mind. When I think of God's creation: there it is, in beginning forms. When I imagine Jesus' journey and his effect on us: perhaps a similar pattern. And when I imagine the Holy Spirit: yes, a nebula.

Chaotic swirls of matter, mixing life and death, forming clusters that break apart and reform, perhaps coalescing someday into stars and light.

Advent.

Sorting (RevGals Advent Retreat II)

I don't think of sorting wheat from chaff in terms of sorting people into groups, those included and those not, those who get it and those who don't, those who are elect and those who are not. But I do think of it as something we can address in our own lives, whether interiorly or in community.

This second reflection reminded me of a couple of things. First, some months ago, one of the Jesuits in my life reminded me of the parable of the sower, and told me that it is about tending my own inner garden as well. He has been gently, and sometimes not so gently, challenging me for months to find alternative pathways through my grief. I am a very slow and laborious gardener. Manure abounds.

Secondly, in my Church and Sacraments class, we spent some time last month talking over what the Ten Commandments mean and how to look at them in light of Scripture and the Reformed Confessions. The pattern which more or less holds is to look at each one expansively, interiorly, and then in a positive sense. So, in very brief, as I wrote with respect to "Do not steal" on my final exam, one might also understand that particular commandment to mean "Do not steal the limelight (an expansion of the original), do not envy someone else her achievements (a reference to interior stealing), give generously wherever you can (a positive take)."

So. Sorting wheat from chaff.

In the grieving process: How might one pursue healthy ways of grieving that give expression to genuine sorrow as opposed to repressive ways that damage one for life, or obsessive ways that trap one in unresolvable quagmires? In community, whatever those communities may be? Alone, in prayer? In giving, something out of nothing?

RevGals Advent Retreat Part II

Today I'm following the RevGals Advent Retreat, so this is my third post of the day! The second reflection is up; it's a long one, so I'm going to post just the final question, and urge you to go to the original retreat site and to its comments for further reading and contemplation.

""John speaks of wheat and chaff being sorted, and we tend to think of this as an outer process, a division of faithful people from the rest of the world. But perhaps we can apply this to the inner life. As we begin this Advent, can you identify the wheat and the chaff in your life? Are you ready to leave the chaff behind?"

(Posted by Songbird.)

Back later, perhaps with some thoughts on this one.

RevGals Advent Retreat

This initial post is so beautiful that I'm going to copy it in its entirety here, and try to return to it to write later, perhaps many times through Advent. Go to the initial link for comments and links to what I am sure will be other and very moving posts.

A meditation on the readings for Advent 2C offered by Mompriest:

Entering the Advent journey is an invitation to travel, intentionally, into the wilderness – the dark night of the soul. One hopes that the Church guides this journey offering opportunities to pray, ponder, stirred up, conflicted. John, the desert prophet, proclaims the burning chaff, the background to our Christmas shopping. Advent sings of incongruous images - new birth and end of life, the Alpha and the Omega, of oppression and freedom, of despair and ultimately of hope. The path is uneven and twisted, spiraling in to the depths of our being, certain we are lost. And then, quietly, the Spirit of God calls to us, “Awake, arise, my love, my dear one.” The early morning desert sun illuminates the way - through the valley to Jordan’s bank - our God is near. Awake and hearken, let each heart prepare a place for the Word to break in, a child to come anew, whispering peace into you and me. Come, our long expected One, come.

Within in our darkest night
A starless chill
Shudders
Calling, “Emmanuel
Where
Oh where, are you?”

Within our deepest soul
Astounding one
Voice
Cries in the wilderness
“Prepare
the way of the Lord!”

Within our darkest night
A still small spark
Kindled
Hark! The glad sound calls out
“Sleepers
Awake!” Jerusalem

Rise up and give walk in light
prepare
from darkest night -
Arise!
Our Daystar comes, the night

Dispelled, every valley filled,
every
mountain low, the rough made
smooth
A light, a light bathes bright

Discard the garment, sorrow
afflicted.
Arise! Put on the robe
Adorned
with love and mercy



Questions to ponder:

John Newton, the author of Amazing Grace, describes our spiritual journey as a process of moving from desire for God, to conflict with God, to contemplation and peace with God. (Go here for more on this idea.) Many consider this process to be a spiral not linear. Based on these three "states" where are you in your faith journey?

Does the mystery of Advent invite you into deeper reflection on your relationship with God?