Advent 2: In the Wilderness, Prepare!

 Isaiah 40/Mark 1:1-8

          

            “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas … Everywhere you go”

            For a brief moment – late Thursday night and early Friday morning – I sort of felt like singing this song.

             It snowed! 

            Something I have been told NEVER happens here.

             It snowed, and it was a surprise, and one of my friends said she and her husband just drove up and down the streets near them because then they could see the snowflakes hitting the windshield. 

            Simple pleasures. 

            And in the morning there was this light coating of snow, and when my husband went to the store for a couple of things, he said that everyone was in good spirits there –talking and wishing each other a Merry Christmas!

            “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas ….. Everywhere you go….”

            It reminded me of preparing for Christmas when I was a little girl, and when my dad and I would go out to get the tree, and we’d drive in that snowy cold winter air like they have up north and we’d sing this song all the way to the Christmas tree lot. 

            Because for some reason or another, snow, a beautiful blanket of snow, said Christmas to us.

            It was part of the Christmas preparations, and we expected it, but we couldn’t make it happen.

            It’s beginning to look a lot like – Christmas.  

            Everywhere you go. 

            But what does “Christmas” look like?  

            The image that the prophet Isaiah paints is something else – not preparation for Christmas but preparation for the Kingdom of God .              “Prepare the way of the Lord”, the prophet says – and it’s a huge construction project.

            The valleys will be raised up and the mountains made low and the crooked places straight, because God is going to make an actual appearance. 

            Isaiah is speaking to people who have been in exile, who have been conquered by their enemies and sent away – people who may feel both hopeless and desperate – but also perhaps – feel the weight of their own unfaithfulness. 

            They had turned away from God. 

            But now – now they were living far away from their home and they were dislocated from the things that made their faith real to them.            The temple was gone.  Had God left them too? 

            They were like people who associated snow with Christmas – living in a land of no snow. 

            They were refugees looking for a place to worship – a place that looked like home. 

            And the prophet was saying to them – God is going to make an actual appearance.  Prepare the way of the Lord. 

            It’s a big construction project because the people know that they need a big construction project. 

            They need God to come to them.   

            They need an actual appearance by God.    And In Isaiah, God promises that they will get it. 

            God is coming to them.  Prepare the way.

            But Isaiah says something more than that.  He doesn’t just say, “Prepare.”  He says, “in the wilderness prepare….”  And I have been wondering about this lately. 

            In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord.   

            Is this important? 

            What does it mean?  Why prepare in the wilderness?  It’s the place where the people wandered for 40 years before entering the promised land.

             It’s the place where Jesus went to be tempted for 40 days.  The wilderness can be beautiful but it can be barren and it is dangerous. 

            And it is where we are.

            Aren’t we?  I can’t help thinking this.

             I’m seeing pictures of fires burning in Los Angeles.  I hear stories of refugees with no place to go.

             I remember the devastation of flooding in Houston, in the Caribbean, in Puerto Rico. 

            People celebrating at a concert in Las Vegas are murdered, and people worshipping at a church in Sutherland Springs. 

            And more and more, I hear the language of “them and us” … if we disagree with each other, we use the language of contempt.   It seems like the wilderness to me.

            And then there are the small and individual stories I hear about:  the woman who asks me to pray for her husband, who has depression.  The teenage boy dying of cancer.   The woman grieving the loss of her sister.   

            In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, the prophet says.  Because that is where we are. 

            God is going to make an actual appearance – where we are, in the wilderness.

            I will tell you now that one of the hard things this summer was finally moving out of our home in Minnesota. 

            Not because I didn’t want to move, but because – well – moving is just hard work, even when you know it’s hard, it turns out to be even harder.

             And while we were moving I found out that there was a new member of the family – my great-niece was born – and I desperately wanted to meet that little baby. 

            But it was all moving all the time, and there wasn’t time to go and see her.

             I remember one night thinking if I wasn’t so tired, I would just like to meet that little baby, but not having the energy to do anything about it, and my nephew sent a little video of her. 

            And you know, it wasn’t the same, it wasn’t an Actual Appearance – but it was something.

            And finally, when we were back this week, they all came over to my mom’s house, they all came over for supper, and I got to meet her. Lyric is her name.  Like the song. 

            And I got to hold her.  And sing to her.  “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas… everywhere you go.” 

            Not because of the snow.  Because of a child.

            In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, the prophet says to us.

             Because that is where we are.  He is coming to us there.  He’s coming to bring life.  He’s coming to bring peace.  He’s coming to bring love.

            And he says, “Repent.” 

            Which means a lot of things, but one thing is “turn around.” 

            Turn around because we are always looking in the wrong places for God, and we’re looking in the wrong places for salvation. 

            We’re looking inside ourselves, we’re looking at powerful people.  But God is coming to us in the wilderness, God is coming to us where it’s cold, and where we are vulnerable, and where we are grieving. 

            God is coming to us in weakness, in a baby in a manger, in the cross where we crucified him.   

            God is coming to us not in power, but in weakness, not in revenge but in love. 

            Prepare the way of the Lord. 

            Turn around and open your arms, and your heart.

            Turn to your neighbor, turn to the stranger.

            Let it be true:

            For you. 

            Because you see it.  Because you bring it.

           

            It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.  Everywhere you go.

            Let every heart prepare him room.

            AMEN

           

            

Snow Day at the Pre-School

Friday was a Big Day at the pre-school associated with my church.  Even though the temperature was approaching 70 degrees and sunny, it was Winter.   A whole load of snow was delivered to the space between the sanctuary and the playground, where it was piled up in mounds for the children.  There were two bales of hay to serve as artificial hills, there were plenty of brightly-colored plastic sleds, and there there were children in jackets and snow shoes and boots.

It was Snow Day.

Did I mention that it was approaching 70 outside?

I come from a snowy land far north from where I am serving now.  I have to admit that, while watching the children I felt both misty-eyed and surreal.  I could have been wearing shorts.  But in front of me, children were playing in the snow, making snowballs and hitting each other, sliding down the hills millions of times, eating snow (is this universal?),  laughing and even (I thought I imagined) making snow angels.

I wasn't dressed appropriately, but I found myself wanting to get down in the snow and show them how you make a snow angel.

These children never see snow.  They don't get snow in this part of Texas.  At least, if they do, something is Seriously Wrong.   I have heard (but have not yet experienced it) that they get occasional ice storms.  But no snow.

I have been around snow my whole life, but it has been a few years since I experienced the fun of it.  I am not a winter sports aficionado.  I'm not great at ice skating, and I haven't gone sledding for a number of years.  The morning activities took me back to the big sledding hills of my youth, when winter was still fun:  snow forts and big hills and yes, even snow angels.  Now all I can think of is slipping on ice, shoveling out, the perils of driving, the nuisance and the danger.

I had forgotten the joy.

It was a teachable moment that morning:  for the children who do not have the opportunity see, touch, to taste snow.  But it was a teachable moment for me too, for me who so often forgets to wonder, to see, to taste joy which really is the elixir of life.  I am not talking about happiness, that elusive pursuit, but joy, as in "the joy of the Lord is our strength."

Joy does not deny the reality of storms, or shoveling out, of slipping on ice.  But still joy takes the moment to rip paper from Christmas packages, to dance in church, to taste snow,  to make a snow angel.

The joy of the Lord is our strength, which is why we need children, not relegated off to the side, but in the middle of our lives.

Searching for Christmas

"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," was one of my songs, growing up.  My dad and I would sing it in the car, while we were going to get the Christmas tree.  We would drive along the snowy roads of suburban Minnesota, past twinkling lights and shopping malls, and we would sing "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas" with all of the gusto we gave to the sacred songs.

Back then, I thought I knew what Christmas looked like.  It looked like the creche in our living room, with the figures I loved to move around, so that I could tell the story.  It also looked like the snowflakes on the window, the ribbon candy and peanuts they gave us in Sunday School, the angel wings and haloes, the tinsel on the tree.  It looked like the eighth floor of the department store downtown where we bought each other presents.  It looked like the whole extended family gathered around the table, a tree full of presents.  It looked like the new clothes we wore to the Christmas eve service.  It looked like snow.  I was dreaming of a White Christmas, even while I was singing "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing."

This year I am serving a congregation in a different region of the country.  It doesn't look much like my conception of Christmas here.  Most of my Christmas decorations are still in Minnesota.  There is not room for a tree in my apartment.   I will not be surrounded by extended family this year; there will be no snow.  And I have caught myself wondering:  what does Christmas look like?

I would like to know it when I see it.

It is still Advent here, but not for long.  Soon people will be gathering to sing the carols and to hear the story, snow or not.  Some of them will be coming with extended family, reunited for the holiday.  Some will come alone.  Others may not come at all, will stay at home, wondering what Christmas looks like.  If the children aren't coming home, if there is no snow, if you don't have a festive meal with family, if you don't have a tree, if your Christmas this year doesn't look like the Christmases you remember:  What does Christmas look like?

I would like to know it when I see it.

So I am searching for Christmas right now, which is to say I am searching for a light in the darkness, the door that is open, the hand that will not let go.  I am searching for a pure note in the silence, tears of joy and grief, an unexpected gift, the word 'yes.'  I am searching for Christmas, by which I mean the smell of fresh hay, new babies and night air, the sound of whispers, the sight of snow, or a star, or a lightning bug.  The Word made flesh.  Where I am.  Not just memories.

I am searching for Christmas right now.  The Word made flesh.  Where I am.  Where you are.

Snow at Christmas

Just a few minutes ago I looked out my window here at the office and got very excited.  "It's snowing!" I called out, to no one in particular.  It looks like it will just be a few snow flurries, but it did my heart good to see it. 

There is no snow here, to speak of.  It is December 21st, and this is Minnesota, and by all rights, there should be snow.  When people from my neck of the woods do a word association about Christmas, one of the top five words would be "snow."  Most of us are dreaming of a white Christmas here.  Though a few of us are happy that we don't have the slippery roads and shovelling associated with a white Christmas, there does seem as well to be a certain sense of disclocation.  Where are we?  What time is it? 

A Christmas tree salesman told us once that when the snow is late in coming the tree sales are slow, too.  We have labelled "snow" as one of the 'signs of the times' and there is some lack of urgency, perhaps.  Some people say they have a hard time getting into the 'Christmas spirit' without snow. 

But why is that?  In a real sense, Christmas doesn't have anything to do with snow.  It's not mentioned once in Luke, Chapter 2, nor in John, chapter 1.  There are lots of places where Christmas comes without snow. 

Maybe it's just a look I've gotten really used to, in my many years living up here.  On this darkest and longest of nights, I have gotten used to looking out into the darkness and seeing something white.  It's not the glow of a candle, but it sparkles and glistens.  The light shines in the darkness. 

Snow is one of the places I have come to look for light.  But there are plenty of other places to look for light, maybe truer places ( who can say?)  I just read the story of the local food drive that three Lutheran churches held.  Three truckloads of food were donated, but one of the truck drivers turned out to be a thief, driving off with 1,500 pounds of food which was meant to give away.  This happened on Monday.

Today I heard that these three churches have received more than enough food to make up for their loss.

The light shines in the darkness.

On Wednesdays in Advent, people from our congregation have been coming together for a short evening service.  At the close of each worship service, we sing a version of the table prayer to the tune of "Tallis Canon."  We have been singing it in canon, a capella.  Last Wednesday there were four parts.  It was beautiful, those bare voices singing.

The light shines in the darkness.

After the church service last Sunday, one man came up to me and pushed a few bills into my hand.  "I didn't get a bonus this year," he said, "but I still want to help someone in our congregation."  A little while later, I heard a woman telling a young African-American girl that she was beautiful.  A little while later, I looked into the sanctuary and saw several people working together decorating the church for Christmas eve.   One word, "Emmanuel" hangs above the pulpit in glittery letters.

The light shines in the darkness. 

Even when there is no snow.

"It Could Have Been Us"

On Sunday afternoon, my husband and I took a brief getaway to a Small Historic Town near here. We stayed in an historic inn, had the bed and breakfast special, shopped a little, and had a swim. Then we started home. There was pretty, light snow falling.

As we neared home, traffic slowed, and we saw up ahead what had happened: a car was sitting at a right angle to the road, facing a pole. The roads were starting to get slippery. My husband turned to me and said, "it could have been us." He reflected on what a good idea it was for me to shop for just a few minutes longer at the Scandinavian gift shop.

We returned home, unpacked, did a little laundry, took naps. We heard the message machine beep: it was a call from the pastor at my husband's church, saying that it was his call whether he would come to the Monday night service that evening.

It was still snowing.

My husband thought we needed to go out to pick up our dog at the sitter anyway, so we would leave early and go to church.

Almost immediately after leaving, we thought that might have been a mistake. The streets were very slippery and traffic was stopped on the freeway. We saw another traffic backup and another accident. We had hoped to leave earlier, but now my husband was glad. "If we had left a few minutes earlier, that could have been us."

It was beginning to look like we might not arrive at the church on time. We considered, more than once, just forgetting about church, and continuing on to get the dog. We took an alternate route, since our normal route to church was, again, deadlocked traffic.

It looked like it was going to be close. We might get to church with two or three minutes to spare. But in the end, we made a left turn into the church parking lot at five minutes before the church service.

Just as we were turning left, the car behind us hit us, on the driver's side. There is a cracked taillight, a dent on the left bumper, and the driver's side down. Also, the driver's side door will not close.

After the police report and the exchange of insurance information, we had to drive home with a rope to hold the door closed. (yes, we did pick up the dog.)

Did I tell you, my husband was driving, but it was my car?

I'm trying to put the best construction on this (many people at the church offered to help us, we are glad no one was hurt, etc.) but I'm not totally succeeding.

It's Snowing

Ir's not quite Christmas eve, and I'm headed to bed. We were out a bit tonight, and it seemed like we were getting some serious snow. But we'll see. We're tough here in the Twin Cities and we hardly ever cancel anything, not like those rural areas you hear about.

Now of course there are reasons for this, reasons I knew nothing about until I lived in one of those (I thought) wimpy rural areas. Two reasons I can think of right away: 1. visibility. 2. blowing and drifting snow. Then there's the chance of getting stuck or going off the road when you are miles from anywhere, instead of two blocks away from a mall or a gas station. Maybe those rural people aren't so wimpy. Maybe they respect nature.

I kind of miss living in a rural area, and the adventure of serious snow. I miss getting snowed in. I miss having a break from the schedule, an opportunity to sit and read and knit (although in rural South Dakota I was doing counted cross-stitch) and watch romantic movies. I miss having my neighbors help me push my car out of a snowdrift.

It's snowing here, and it's almost Christmas eve. We'll drive slowly and safely to church anyway, and we'll shake the snow off our coats, and we'll sing the songs just like every other year.

But even if it's just a winter storm, and not an official "blizzard", it won't be like every other Christmas eve. This year will be its own year, the year more troops went to Afghanistan, and some sort of health care passed, but we didn't know if it would be a good thing or not. It will be the year a lot of us didn't have jobs, the year some of us were hanging on by our fingernails. It will be the year the kids didn't come home, the first year without grandpa, the year of the homemade scarves, the year we didn't have homemade cookies. It will be the year the euphoniums played at church, or your granddaughter sang a solo, or your grandson read the lesson at church. It will be the year you hold a candle and suddenly realize it is a "holy night", the year you yearn for peace, the year you wondered what it all meant.

And it will be the year it snowed. And snowed. And snowed.

Why I Don't Have a Picture of Scout Frolicking in the Snow

This morning we woke up to thick big snow flakes falling on the lawn. It's the kind of snow that melts into your foot when you walk on it. It's the kind of snow that gets our dog, Scout all excited. Being part husky, she loves snow and ice; she loves running and rolling around and sticking her face in snow drifts when they are available. (Even she draws the line at about 20 degrees below zero, though; the ice hurts her paws.)

This morning we woke up to the sound of a dog whining and whining as if to say: "I want to go out and play in this RIGHT NOW." I wanted to wait until it was light enough to catch some pictures, or a short video of her frolicking. Such joie de vivre! So I put up with her whining as long as I could, and then let her out, quickly following her with my trusty digital camera.

However, she didn't run and frolick. She ran to one particular spot and started sniffing and pawing and licking. She picked up something and ran with it, something which at first looked like one of the big sticks she likes to carry around.

But it wasn't a stick. It was a dead rabbit.

I didn't think you would want pictures of that.

However, here is a picture of Scout looking not like a sociopathic killer, but instead like our best friend, comforter and household part-time entertainer. Here she is becoming one with the new rug in "her" room. She also obliged me by sleeping on the bed for awhile each night that my husband was gone, even though I think she likes her own bed better.

For some reason, I'm willing to put up with the "sociopathic killer" part. I wonder why.

Potpourri

Yesterday we took Scout on a walk around the lake for the first time this year. It was in the 50s. Lots of people. Lots of dogs.

Today, it is snowing. Big wet heavy snowflakes. (sigh.) Welcome to Minnesota.

Re: the sermon about "sharing the peace" -- one person asked, half-joking: "Would Jesus sneeze into his hand and then pass the peace? Do you think Jesus is contagious?" ....my answer: "Yes, but in a good way."

Just wondering: If there were a warm-up act for a poetry reading, what would it be?

We saw Mary Oliver last night at the Historic State Theatre. She was wonderful, funny, profound, and warm. She read three poems about her dog, Percy (who, it turns out, is a bichon rescue). She says that he asks her when she gets back: "What's my cut?" She talked a little about her love for nature: "Nature is holy and wonderful in itself, and not just because we need it."

However, the whole time I was fighting a migraine, and not winning. I'm hoping now that it is on the way out, but it's too soon to tell.

Have a nice day...or, more appropriately, Peace be with you.

I'm Dreaming of a White Easter

It's been snowing this morning, and snowing all day yesterday too. Somehow, it doesn't feel right; doesn't feel like Easter. Where's my Easter bonnet and my new spring outfit?

In my heart of hearts I know this is wrong; Easter isn't about flowers and birds and buds on the trees and the inevitable but long-awaited coming of Spring. (lovely as that is) Easter is about the resurrection of the dead, about graves being opened, about freedom where there was slavery, about reconciliation where there was only estrangement, about life where there was death and decay.

It's not the dormancy of winter, something that only seemed dead. It's about something entirely natural being reversed by the power of the love of God.

Can these bones live?

O Lord, you know.