What You Have Received as a Gift, Give as a Gift
Isaiah 30:19-25
Matthew 9:35-10:8
In the Gospel reading from Matthew 9, Jesus teaches, preaches, and heals as he moves through towns and villages. He meets crowds everywhere he goes, and is moved with compassion as he observes that the people are "harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."
Then, Jesus says that there is much need, much to harvest in the world, but that few are laboring for that harvest. Pray for workers who will serve the harvest of God's kingdom, he says to his followers.
For those of us who would read an Advent blog like this, I imagine that Black Friday and Cyber Monday signalled the need to decorate homes, make lists, plan menus, coordinate calendars, buy and wrap gifts, and confirm travel plans for the holidays. With so much on our plates, we may feel like those who are harassed and helpless, completely besieged by the demands of the season.
In truth, though, most of what feels burdensome to us during December is surface stuff . . . the lists and plans and anxieties that we take upon ourselves.
At the same time, there may be weightier concerns both within us and in those around us . . . grieving significant passings . . . loss of meaningful work . . . newly diagnosed health concerns . . . emotional struggles, including depression.
In the Gospel text, I imagine Jesus turning to those of us who are his followers and asking that we pray for someone -- or perhaps to be the ones -- who will go out to where people are truly harassed and helpless, where persons are lost and without a way, despondent and despairing, broken and exhausted, dazed and without a noticeable pathway home.
So what if, as Jesus suggests, we seek out those who are truly harassed and helpless this Advent? What do we have to offer?
In the last line of today's Gospel, Jesus says simply, "What you have received as a gift, give as a gift." (Matt. 10:8)
That is all.
FOR REFLECTION:
Spend time reflecting on Matthew 10:8.
"What you have received as a gift, give as a gift."
As you consider the line, go beyond analysis and what you think it means. Actually do some self-reflection. What have you received as a gift?
After considering what you have been given as gift, you will have some sense of what Jesus might be inviting you to give as gift.
Saturday, December 8, 2018
Friday, December 7, 2018
First Friday of Advent - December 7, 2018
Do You Believe . . .?
Isaiah 29:17-24
Matthew 9:27-31
During the first week of Advent, a lone candle stands against the darkness . . . a solitary symbol of hope and light.
Advent reminds us time and time again that the darkness surrounding us is not the only reality of life. In our spiritual deafness, we will hear and in our spiritual blindness we will see. Hope comes even as we wait.
Isaiah says,
"In that day the deaf will hear
the words of the scroll,
and out of gloom and darkness
the eyes of the blind will see." (Is. 29:18)
What Isaiah speaks as prophecy, Matthew answers from the life of Jesus.
Isaiah prophecies that out of gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind will see. Matthew tells us that two blind men seeking mercy receive their sight from Jesus.
For many, the world seems darker, gloomier, more divided than ever. Some of us struggle to see light, blinded by pervasive hatred, by conflict, by chasms that grow deeper by the day.
In the Advent texts, we are the blind, the deaf, those wondering if light has abandoned us.
Pablo Neruda was a Chilean poet and politician who wrote these words several decades ago in days of global tension over nuclear proliferation:
I am fighting for that ubiquitous, widespread, inexhaustible goodness. . . . I still have absolute faith in human destiny, a clearer and clearer conviction that we are approaching a great common tenderness. I write knowing that the danger of the bomb hangs over all our heads, a nuclear catastrophe that would leave no one, nothing on this earth. Well, that does not alter my hope. At this critical moment, in this flicker of anguish, we know that the true light will enter those eyes that are vigilant. We shall all understand one another. We shall advance together. And this hope cannot be crushed. (Quoted in Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas and Epiphany, pp. 36-37)
Neruda's days were no more explosive than our times today. Hope creeps toward us.
The story of the two blind men in Matthew 9 turns on this question Jesus asks: "Do you believe I am able to do this?" Do you believe I can change darkness to light? Do you believe you'll see hope again? Do you believe against all evidence to the contrary?
This is an Advent text because it fulfills the prophecy of Isaiah.
It is also an Advent text because the two who are blind walk in darkness, needing sight, hoping for light.
What about you?
Do you believe you will see light again?
Do you believe God can cause light to overcome darkness?
Do you believe God is somehow at work in the world, even though your eyes may be blind to God's light-work?
For Reflection:
Today, hear Jesus ask you, "Do you believe I am able to do this?"
Answer as honestly as possible. Speak your answer . . . or write it. Allow Jesus' question to lead you into prayerful conversation with him.
Isaiah 29:17-24
Matthew 9:27-31
During the first week of Advent, a lone candle stands against the darkness . . . a solitary symbol of hope and light.
Advent reminds us time and time again that the darkness surrounding us is not the only reality of life. In our spiritual deafness, we will hear and in our spiritual blindness we will see. Hope comes even as we wait.
Isaiah says,
"In that day the deaf will hear
the words of the scroll,
and out of gloom and darkness
the eyes of the blind will see." (Is. 29:18)
What Isaiah speaks as prophecy, Matthew answers from the life of Jesus.
Isaiah prophecies that out of gloom and darkness the eyes of the blind will see. Matthew tells us that two blind men seeking mercy receive their sight from Jesus.
For many, the world seems darker, gloomier, more divided than ever. Some of us struggle to see light, blinded by pervasive hatred, by conflict, by chasms that grow deeper by the day.
In the Advent texts, we are the blind, the deaf, those wondering if light has abandoned us.
Pablo Neruda was a Chilean poet and politician who wrote these words several decades ago in days of global tension over nuclear proliferation:
I am fighting for that ubiquitous, widespread, inexhaustible goodness. . . . I still have absolute faith in human destiny, a clearer and clearer conviction that we are approaching a great common tenderness. I write knowing that the danger of the bomb hangs over all our heads, a nuclear catastrophe that would leave no one, nothing on this earth. Well, that does not alter my hope. At this critical moment, in this flicker of anguish, we know that the true light will enter those eyes that are vigilant. We shall all understand one another. We shall advance together. And this hope cannot be crushed. (Quoted in Megan McKenna, Advent, Christmas and Epiphany, pp. 36-37)
Neruda's days were no more explosive than our times today. Hope creeps toward us.
The story of the two blind men in Matthew 9 turns on this question Jesus asks: "Do you believe I am able to do this?" Do you believe I can change darkness to light? Do you believe you'll see hope again? Do you believe against all evidence to the contrary?
This is an Advent text because it fulfills the prophecy of Isaiah.
It is also an Advent text because the two who are blind walk in darkness, needing sight, hoping for light.
What about you?
Do you believe you will see light again?
Do you believe God can cause light to overcome darkness?
Do you believe God is somehow at work in the world, even though your eyes may be blind to God's light-work?
For Reflection:
Today, hear Jesus ask you, "Do you believe I am able to do this?"
Answer as honestly as possible. Speak your answer . . . or write it. Allow Jesus' question to lead you into prayerful conversation with him.
Thursday, December 6, 2018
First Thurday of Advent - December 6, 2018
Hearing the Word
Isaiah 26:1-6
Matthew 7:21-27
“These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. . . ." (Matt. 7:24, The Message)
25 years ago, I did all sorts of things with the words spoken by Jesus. I studied them, memorized them, took seminary classes to illumine them, read books about them, taught them, preached sermons about them, quoted them. . . . I became skilled at handling the words, but much less skilled, to use the phrase in The Message, at "working these words into my life."
Jesus calls some ways of handling his words, "building a house on sand."
He calls other ways of handling his words, "building a house on solid rock."
Building a house in Jesus' wisdom saying is metaphor for building a life. In truth, God is present both in the house/life with a sand foundation and in the house/life with a foundation of rock. God is not limited by our wisdom and skill -- or lack thereof -- in building a life. Thus, what may be lacking in the house built on sand is our simple awareness that God is already in the house. Lacking that awareness, we allow ourselves to be thrown around by storms and windy weather, when acknowledging God in the house would immediately give us a solid foundation on which to stand.
In one of his journals, Thomas Merton wrote this:
I am content that these pages show me to be what I am, noisy, full of the racket of my imperfections and passions, and the wide open wounds left by my sins. Full of my own emptiness. Yet, ruined as my own house is, You live there!" (Merton, The Sign of Jonas.)
For Reflection:
1. Spend time today reflecting on Matthew 7:24 from The Message. Notice the words, phrases, or ideas that stand out to you. What do you hear God saying to you through these words, phrases, or ideas? What invitations from God do you sense?
2. Write your own "journal entry" in the style of Merton's entry above. How would you express your own sense of what Merton communicated in his short statement?
Isaiah 26:1-6
Matthew 7:21-27
“These words I speak to you are not incidental additions to your life, homeowner improvements to your standard of living. They are foundational words, words to build a life on. If you work these words into your life, you are like a smart carpenter who built his house on solid rock. . . ." (Matt. 7:24, The Message)
25 years ago, I did all sorts of things with the words spoken by Jesus. I studied them, memorized them, took seminary classes to illumine them, read books about them, taught them, preached sermons about them, quoted them. . . . I became skilled at handling the words, but much less skilled, to use the phrase in The Message, at "working these words into my life."
Jesus calls some ways of handling his words, "building a house on sand."
He calls other ways of handling his words, "building a house on solid rock."
Building a house in Jesus' wisdom saying is metaphor for building a life. In truth, God is present both in the house/life with a sand foundation and in the house/life with a foundation of rock. God is not limited by our wisdom and skill -- or lack thereof -- in building a life. Thus, what may be lacking in the house built on sand is our simple awareness that God is already in the house. Lacking that awareness, we allow ourselves to be thrown around by storms and windy weather, when acknowledging God in the house would immediately give us a solid foundation on which to stand.
In one of his journals, Thomas Merton wrote this:
I am content that these pages show me to be what I am, noisy, full of the racket of my imperfections and passions, and the wide open wounds left by my sins. Full of my own emptiness. Yet, ruined as my own house is, You live there!" (Merton, The Sign of Jonas.)
For Reflection:
1. Spend time today reflecting on Matthew 7:24 from The Message. Notice the words, phrases, or ideas that stand out to you. What do you hear God saying to you through these words, phrases, or ideas? What invitations from God do you sense?
2. Write your own "journal entry" in the style of Merton's entry above. How would you express your own sense of what Merton communicated in his short statement?
Wednesday, December 5, 2018
First Wednesday of Advent - December 5, 2018
Having Enough
Isaiah 25:6-10
Matthew 15:29-37
Isaiah 25 offers the image of a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine, as a symbol of the coming "day of the Lord" at a table where everyone eats together.
The age of God's reign is often imaged in scripture as a feast, as a banquet at which all are fed, regardless of social class, race, gender, nationality, sexual orientation, or political persuasion. Everyone gathers at the table for a banquet. The poor and the rich are seated at the same table for God's feast, the finest meats, the best wines, enough for everyone, a table of plenty.
Whenever the Church offers a Eucharistic meal, the very act of Communion from a "common" table, she provides a miniature sign of this all-encompassing feast foreshadowed in scripture.
In the Gospel for today, Matthew describes the feast a bit differently than Isaiah. The feast is not opulence, but rather is simple sustenance for people who are hungry and in danger of "collapsing on the way." (For another time, you might consider this text with eyes beyond the literal . . . what is the true food of God that feeds people, sustaining us so that we don't "collapse on the way"?)
Many people have gathered, hungry, and in gathering resources to feed north of 4,000 people, some loaves and a few fish have been shared. It is not much, but it is enough.
Indeed, there is enough food to feed everyone, the story goes on to demonstrate. But what I have in my possession must be shared, not hoarded, not used as an instrument of social control. The food and resources at my disposal are not to be used in a way that holds power over those who have not. The bread must be brought together and shared for the common good.
The wonder here is not only the miracle of Jesus somehow causing bread and fish to multiply. The miracle is also the wonder of human sharing . . . the miracle of what happens within people when they take their grip off the resources they hold, and make those resources available for the common good . . . when we all share together, refusing to hold onto what we have -- either to punish the other, or to control them by what we have and they have-not -- so that everyone has enough.
Everyone is fed. There is plenty to go around. There are baskets of leftovers.
Perhaps Matthew is answering Isaiah, saying in effect that the day of the Lord is here already, right now, when people share what they have so that everyone has enough. It is not a feast of opulence, but it is enough, plenty for hungry people.
For Reflection:
What do you hold in your hand? Take inventory of what you have, the resources at your disposal. Everyone has something to share . . . material goods . . . time . . . expertise in some area . . . a willing spirit . . . compassion. What do you have to share so that others have enough? And how might you share this week?
Isaiah 25:6-10
Matthew 15:29-37
Isaiah 25 offers the image of a feast of rich food for all peoples, a banquet of aged wine, as a symbol of the coming "day of the Lord" at a table where everyone eats together.
The age of God's reign is often imaged in scripture as a feast, as a banquet at which all are fed, regardless of social class, race, gender, nationality, sexual orientation, or political persuasion. Everyone gathers at the table for a banquet. The poor and the rich are seated at the same table for God's feast, the finest meats, the best wines, enough for everyone, a table of plenty.
Whenever the Church offers a Eucharistic meal, the very act of Communion from a "common" table, she provides a miniature sign of this all-encompassing feast foreshadowed in scripture.
In the Gospel for today, Matthew describes the feast a bit differently than Isaiah. The feast is not opulence, but rather is simple sustenance for people who are hungry and in danger of "collapsing on the way." (For another time, you might consider this text with eyes beyond the literal . . . what is the true food of God that feeds people, sustaining us so that we don't "collapse on the way"?)
Many people have gathered, hungry, and in gathering resources to feed north of 4,000 people, some loaves and a few fish have been shared. It is not much, but it is enough.
Indeed, there is enough food to feed everyone, the story goes on to demonstrate. But what I have in my possession must be shared, not hoarded, not used as an instrument of social control. The food and resources at my disposal are not to be used in a way that holds power over those who have not. The bread must be brought together and shared for the common good.
The wonder here is not only the miracle of Jesus somehow causing bread and fish to multiply. The miracle is also the wonder of human sharing . . . the miracle of what happens within people when they take their grip off the resources they hold, and make those resources available for the common good . . . when we all share together, refusing to hold onto what we have -- either to punish the other, or to control them by what we have and they have-not -- so that everyone has enough.
Everyone is fed. There is plenty to go around. There are baskets of leftovers.
Perhaps Matthew is answering Isaiah, saying in effect that the day of the Lord is here already, right now, when people share what they have so that everyone has enough. It is not a feast of opulence, but it is enough, plenty for hungry people.
For Reflection:
What do you hold in your hand? Take inventory of what you have, the resources at your disposal. Everyone has something to share . . . material goods . . . time . . . expertise in some area . . . a willing spirit . . . compassion. What do you have to share so that others have enough? And how might you share this week?
Tuesday, December 4, 2018
First Tuesday of Advent - December 4, 2018
Beginning . . . Again
Isaiah 11:1-10
Luke 10:21-24
Isaiah's prophecy looks to a time when a "root will come up from the stump" of Jesse (King David's lineage) . . . "from his roots a Branch will bear fruit."
In something that looks final (a stump), something new will begin to appear.
Something small and hidden (roots) will be the beginning of fruit-bearing.
In Luke 10:21, the revelation is entrusted to children, to the unsophisticated, not to the learned. We all have to begin as children, in other words.
Today's readings make clear a basic spiritual truth: The first step of the spiritual life is to begin, and to begin where you are, not where you would like to be or where you have been in the past.
Begin here, not there.
Begin now, not then.
Don't ever think of yourself as so advanced that you have no need to begin right here, right now. I've heard too many people through the years say, "I can't begin now . . . I'll begin when _______."
The only place from which you can begin is here. Now.
When a Benedictine monk was asked by a visitor what the monks did all day at the monastery, he replied, "We fall down and get up. Fall down and get up. Fall down and get up" (hence the title of John McQuiston's book on Benedictine spirituality, Always We Begin Again).
About the spiritual life, Thomas Merton wrote this: "One cannot begin to face the real difficulties of the life of prayer and meditation unless one is first perfectly content to be a beginner and really experience himself (sic) as one who knows little or nothing, and has a desperate need to learn the bare rudiments. Those who think they 'know' from the beginning will never, in fact, come to know anything. . . . We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners, all our life!" (Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer, pp. 36-37)
For Reflection:
1. Spend some time reflecting on what it means for you to be a beginner. How does that feel to you? What does it raise up within you? What part of you resists being a beginner? Sit with this as non-judgmentally as you can.
2. Take one of the quotes above (the Benedictine monk or the Merton quote) and sit with it. In whichever quote you choose, notice what ideas or lines speak to you. Also notice which ideas you resist. Bring both that which draws you and that which you resist into your prayer today.
Isaiah 11:1-10
Luke 10:21-24
Isaiah's prophecy looks to a time when a "root will come up from the stump" of Jesse (King David's lineage) . . . "from his roots a Branch will bear fruit."
In something that looks final (a stump), something new will begin to appear.
Something small and hidden (roots) will be the beginning of fruit-bearing.
In Luke 10:21, the revelation is entrusted to children, to the unsophisticated, not to the learned. We all have to begin as children, in other words.
Today's readings make clear a basic spiritual truth: The first step of the spiritual life is to begin, and to begin where you are, not where you would like to be or where you have been in the past.
Begin here, not there.
Begin now, not then.
Don't ever think of yourself as so advanced that you have no need to begin right here, right now. I've heard too many people through the years say, "I can't begin now . . . I'll begin when _______."
The only place from which you can begin is here. Now.
When a Benedictine monk was asked by a visitor what the monks did all day at the monastery, he replied, "We fall down and get up. Fall down and get up. Fall down and get up" (hence the title of John McQuiston's book on Benedictine spirituality, Always We Begin Again).
About the spiritual life, Thomas Merton wrote this: "One cannot begin to face the real difficulties of the life of prayer and meditation unless one is first perfectly content to be a beginner and really experience himself (sic) as one who knows little or nothing, and has a desperate need to learn the bare rudiments. Those who think they 'know' from the beginning will never, in fact, come to know anything. . . . We do not want to be beginners. But let us be convinced of the fact that we will never be anything else but beginners, all our life!" (Thomas Merton, Contemplative Prayer, pp. 36-37)
For Reflection:
1. Spend some time reflecting on what it means for you to be a beginner. How does that feel to you? What does it raise up within you? What part of you resists being a beginner? Sit with this as non-judgmentally as you can.
2. Take one of the quotes above (the Benedictine monk or the Merton quote) and sit with it. In whichever quote you choose, notice what ideas or lines speak to you. Also notice which ideas you resist. Bring both that which draws you and that which you resist into your prayer today.
Monday, December 3, 2018
First Monday of Advent -- December 3, 2018
The Unfolding Plan of God
Isaiah 2:1-5
Matthew 8:5-11
Most mornings I make the mistake of checking the news before I am fully grounded. I read about acts of aggression . . . hostility among races . . . mean tweets that exaggerate facts and belittle others. If I fall too deeply into the hole, despair knocks on the door.
Scripture always resists despair, but is completely realistic about our human situation. The words of prophet and Gospel-writer alike address a fractured world, while also chasing after alienated humans with hope for a reconciled world. The final word is not fracture and alienation, scripture insists, but oneness, healing, and compassion. The world is not a forsaken garbage dump in which good things miraculously happen; rather, God is at work in and around the world in mercy, to bring all things to wholeness. In the words of those who follow the path of Ignatius of Loyola, God's project for the world is to bring all things to oneness. And God is somehow present in all things to bring God's vast project to fruition.
Of course, there are wars and divisions, competition and conflict, racism and sexism, lands and peoples who are plundered. But the work of God is about healing and saving those who are caught in the grip of conflict, destruction, and unjust systems.
The work of God is about restoring the earth so that vegetables and fruit, oil and wine, might feed and refresh all people of the world.
The work of God is about using creativity and ingenuity to fight disease and to create just systems of government for our communities.
The work of God is about compassion, sharing with those who struggle in famine and flood, through hurricane and wildfire.
The work of God is about stepping across divisions between haves and have-nots, using power and authority for giving fullness of life, not diminishing life.
Advent proclaims the truth of our current reality, but also the vision toward which God is working. Our world is being made still, as you and I still are being made. And God is in the making, the unfolding, even now.
The birth of Jesus into the world is part of the unfolding plan of God.
For Reflection:
In what part of life are you most tempted to despair? What helps you to recognize when you are in a place close to despair?
Above I shared with you a partial "litany" of what I sense God is about in the world. Write your own litany, or statement of what you feel God is about in the world. You might begin each line with something like: "The work of God is about __________."
Isaiah 2:1-5
Matthew 8:5-11
Most mornings I make the mistake of checking the news before I am fully grounded. I read about acts of aggression . . . hostility among races . . . mean tweets that exaggerate facts and belittle others. If I fall too deeply into the hole, despair knocks on the door.
Scripture always resists despair, but is completely realistic about our human situation. The words of prophet and Gospel-writer alike address a fractured world, while also chasing after alienated humans with hope for a reconciled world. The final word is not fracture and alienation, scripture insists, but oneness, healing, and compassion. The world is not a forsaken garbage dump in which good things miraculously happen; rather, God is at work in and around the world in mercy, to bring all things to wholeness. In the words of those who follow the path of Ignatius of Loyola, God's project for the world is to bring all things to oneness. And God is somehow present in all things to bring God's vast project to fruition.
Of course, there are wars and divisions, competition and conflict, racism and sexism, lands and peoples who are plundered. But the work of God is about healing and saving those who are caught in the grip of conflict, destruction, and unjust systems.
The work of God is about restoring the earth so that vegetables and fruit, oil and wine, might feed and refresh all people of the world.
The work of God is about using creativity and ingenuity to fight disease and to create just systems of government for our communities.
The work of God is about compassion, sharing with those who struggle in famine and flood, through hurricane and wildfire.
The work of God is about stepping across divisions between haves and have-nots, using power and authority for giving fullness of life, not diminishing life.
Advent proclaims the truth of our current reality, but also the vision toward which God is working. Our world is being made still, as you and I still are being made. And God is in the making, the unfolding, even now.
The birth of Jesus into the world is part of the unfolding plan of God.
For Reflection:
In what part of life are you most tempted to despair? What helps you to recognize when you are in a place close to despair?
Above I shared with you a partial "litany" of what I sense God is about in the world. Write your own litany, or statement of what you feel God is about in the world. You might begin each line with something like: "The work of God is about __________."
Sunday, December 2, 2018
First Sunday of Advent -- December 2, 2018
Stepping into Advent
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21:25-28, 34-36
The season of Advent invites us home to our deeper selves as we move toward the celebration of Jesus' birth. We move through the days mindfully. The Advent journey unfolds within each of us as we step with intention toward Bethlehem. As the saints have reminded us consistently across the centuries, it matters little that Jesus was born to Mary in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago if he is not born anew in our hearts today.
Thus, the early readings in the Advent season begin soberly, reminding us of the state of the world and of the ongoing work of mercy that is God's chief work in the world.
In a theme that will come up often in the Advent readings, Luke's Gospel today is careful to remind us that we must be careful, keep watch, and have a heightened sense of readiness for what God is doing in the world. Otherwise, we will miss it.
One of the Zen Masters advocated living each day and each hour in the same frame of mind as a person falling off a horse. The person falling from a horse has no time to obsess about the past, no time to beat herself up about who she is or where she is, no time for regret. Nor does she have a thought for the shape of the future. There is no time to look around to see how other people are falling (or not falling), or to see how her fall compares to their fall.
In fact, the person falling instinctively gives his or her full attention to that very moment, to the split second in which they are living. The moment is intense, focused, and calls for the person's full attention.
Such intensity sounds intimidating. Who can sustain that kind of heightened awareness? Yet, our spiritual teachers -- Jesus foremost among them -- have consistently called for us to stay awake, to be ready, to pay attention. In many ways, this kind of heightened awareness is the heart of the spiritual life . . . and this is also the area in which we most need assistance.
For Reflection:
In your prayer and reflection, explore what it means for you to "pay attention" today. Have a conversation with God about having a heightened awareness. Or write out your thoughts as if you were writing a note to God.
Then at the end of the day, check in with yourself. How did you do in paying attention over the past 24 hours? What did you notice? As you reflect over the day, be sure you do so without judging yourself. There is no failure, no shame involved in the exercise. You are simply asking God for the grace to see what is, not beat yourself up for what you missed.
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21:25-28, 34-36
The season of Advent invites us home to our deeper selves as we move toward the celebration of Jesus' birth. We move through the days mindfully. The Advent journey unfolds within each of us as we step with intention toward Bethlehem. As the saints have reminded us consistently across the centuries, it matters little that Jesus was born to Mary in Bethlehem 2,000 years ago if he is not born anew in our hearts today.
Thus, the early readings in the Advent season begin soberly, reminding us of the state of the world and of the ongoing work of mercy that is God's chief work in the world.
In a theme that will come up often in the Advent readings, Luke's Gospel today is careful to remind us that we must be careful, keep watch, and have a heightened sense of readiness for what God is doing in the world. Otherwise, we will miss it.
One of the Zen Masters advocated living each day and each hour in the same frame of mind as a person falling off a horse. The person falling from a horse has no time to obsess about the past, no time to beat herself up about who she is or where she is, no time for regret. Nor does she have a thought for the shape of the future. There is no time to look around to see how other people are falling (or not falling), or to see how her fall compares to their fall.
In fact, the person falling instinctively gives his or her full attention to that very moment, to the split second in which they are living. The moment is intense, focused, and calls for the person's full attention.
Such intensity sounds intimidating. Who can sustain that kind of heightened awareness? Yet, our spiritual teachers -- Jesus foremost among them -- have consistently called for us to stay awake, to be ready, to pay attention. In many ways, this kind of heightened awareness is the heart of the spiritual life . . . and this is also the area in which we most need assistance.
For Reflection:
In your prayer and reflection, explore what it means for you to "pay attention" today. Have a conversation with God about having a heightened awareness. Or write out your thoughts as if you were writing a note to God.
Then at the end of the day, check in with yourself. How did you do in paying attention over the past 24 hours? What did you notice? As you reflect over the day, be sure you do so without judging yourself. There is no failure, no shame involved in the exercise. You are simply asking God for the grace to see what is, not beat yourself up for what you missed.
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