Advent

Meditations on Week I of Wednesday night Advent Class, which I missed due to illness

Expectant.

Expectancy.

I expect you to do _________________

This met/did not meet my expectations.

What a powerful word.

Expectancy, during this past year? Certainly there are things I do regularly, such as attending AA meetings and spending Tuesdays and Fridays with Paul, and – as of a month ago – going to church on Sunday morning. The key here is that while I have expectations (who doesn’t?), I must be mindful of the fact that things may not turn out as anticipated. If I’m looking toward an event with a feeling of wonder and joy, there is still doubt in the mix; for that, I must remember to rely on faith. If it’s something I dread, I have tried to learn not to fall into “magical thinking;” if I worry myself sick about this, it won’t happen, but if I’m not the least bit nervous, I’ll get shocking news.

We are powerless over people, places and things. I always know when I’ve crossed the line and begun to push my own agenda on people, oblivious to their needs. I expect my Internet service to work. I expect that there will be hot water when I turn on the shower. I expect my sense of humor to be appreciated and am always shocked when my comments land, like a wet bag of newspapers thudding on the floor, in between myself and the person I thought I could amuse. How do we learn to be sensitive to the reactions of others? Not everyone wants to hear graphic detail, or rhapsodic meanderings about inspiring choral music, or vivid descriptions of someone else’s day. Why am I so often like a freight train, barreling into someone’s life, forgetting to take the emotional temperature of the moment before I speak?

So. How to pause, how to breathe in, how to be present with others, how to listen? Why are we often so blind to what should be so obvious to us? The promptings of the Spirit, if we are open to them, teach us every single day how to slow down and be in the moment; how to think of others before ourselves. Why do we fail to be open to these things? They aren’t hunches. If I am truly attentive, they are astoundingly clear.

Specifically, in my case – who is really interested in my quest for religion? Who cares whether I want to be a United Methodist, a Rastafarian, or a heathen?  How do we learn to keep what is sacred to us close to our hearts, and not be so quick to spill out every detail of our process? Others have their own journeys. The Catholic who is listening to my effusive reactions to Christ United Methodist Church may very well be struggling with the fear of Mass having become a chore.

I think of the word behold. Having spent so many hours in the music department in college, I have sung more than enough choral pieces containing that word. In reading Pastor Pamela C. Hawkins’ book, I have stopped to think about what it really means to behold. To me, it is to look upon something with wonder. To find one’s self startled with joy and amazement. It brings back memories of my childhood, when my mother – upon hearing a bird sing or a far-off sound-- would say “Hearken!” to us. Hearken. Not Listen.

How I love those archaic words.

In prayer, I find I rarely focus on imagery. I am auditory. I tend to hear a choir singing. I choose pieces of music to meditate on in prayer, such as Randall Thompson’s Alleluia, or Pitoni’s Cantate Domino, or the numinous Bless the Lord, O My Soul by Mikhail Mikhailovich Ippolitov-Ivanov.  Holiness, for me, lies in music and in language.

So today, in singing the beloved O Come, O Come Emmanuel, I feel compelled to read about what it actually means when the words say “and ransom captive Israel.” When I experience the signs of the season surrounding me, juxtaposed with the sudden death of a beloved pastor and friend, my heart is troubled. What are we to make of this?

It is especially important, during this cold and often stressful season, to stop and hearken, and to behold. To pause when agitated, as we say in AA. To try, as I am trying right now, not to feel resentment when I am writing and someone is talking to me – demanding my attention.

In this Advent season, I pray for quiet. I pray for hope. I pray for trust and acceptance. I pray that as I open my own imaginary cardboard box of treasures, I turn each one around in my hand and behold, in wonder, the birth of new beginnings once more.