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Dear Friends,
I recently heard of a couple who adopted a baby in a most unexpected way. They had been on a list for three years. They had chosen a room for the baby to come, but they hadn’t decorated or filled it with baby things. Their lives were routine, with no expectations.
Then one day they got a call. A baby boy had been born. The birth couple wanted to meet them. They threw all their plans in the air and traveled hundreds of miles. Within a day, everything was settled and they had their baby boy. Surprise!
Nice story, huh? But there’s more to this one. The baby was not only a surprise for the adopting couple. The woman giving birth, and her husband, had not wanted to raise children. They had no plans for children. OK. But there’s more.
The woman had not known she was pregnant until labor began. Somehow, in her determination to not have a child, she missed what was happening to her. Her husband likewise seemed oblivious. Suddenly, two couples’ lives were upended, and a new life began for five people.
When I heard this story I thought, “This is what Advent is like.” Not the liturgical season, but the reality of the inbreaking of God. God suddenly appears, throwing all our plans into disarray. This is the truth of the early, apocalyptic Advent readings. Advent, real advents, are a surprise and a disruption to our well-ordered lives.
Have you had an Advent moment? Perhaps you’ve had several over the years.
When our own Advents come, we have a choice of response. Like the birth couple, we may turn a blind eye to what is happening within and around us. We may find ourselves one day bringing forth something, someone we did not plan for or want. We may ignore the chest pains, or the heart pains or soul pains, that signal trouble. Then one day, it seems, our world collapses.
Like the adopting couple, we may receive invitations to enlarge our lives. Will we accept this baby, this new joy and new responsibility, into our lives? Will we accept it when it’s a messy surprise, squealing and demanding?
In December we prepare for the coming of Christ. We do it in familiar ways; Christmas is often a time of tradition, of keeping things as they were. But the coming of Christ is more like this unexpected baby, wondrous and terrifying. And really, there’s no planning, no decorating or baking or shopping, that can prepare us for this. Even our familiar hymns and prayers, beloved as they are, may limit our horizon to what we already know.
Advent is not a time of reassurance; it is a time of promise. That’s something different. Promise is something to cling to when reassurance is absent. Like exiles and prisoners, like oppressed people everywhere, the promise is sometimes all we have. And sometimes, it is enough.
As messy as it can be, Advent paves the way for new life. If you are in the apocalyptic phase, know that there’s more coming if you just hang on. Really. It’s a promise.
God is with us. The Word becomes flesh, and flesh becomes holy. All the time.
May your tears and fears meet the cry of a babe, this season and always.
Love,
Sister Shane, for the Companions
P.S. I couldn't find an image that spoke to this; if you know of one that expresses what you sense in this moment, let me know!
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