Let Advent Break Your Heart
Maybe it's the waning light and earlier evenings as we head into winter. Or the book
I just read on the effects of environmental toxins on fetal development
and breast milk quality. Or the upcoming anniversary of the Newtown shootings.
Whatever the reasons, as we enter Advent, I am increasingly aware of
the darkness of this world into which I am bringing my child, due any
day now.
It's a deeply disturbing realization. Welcome, little one, to a place
where kids are shot in schools and on street corners, wars rage, and
corporate interests often trump the common good. The things I see and
hear about every day rattle my heart with worry.
Growing up with an overprotective mother, I told myself would never be
that fearful and worried about my own children. Now, I realize it is
only natural. The small fists and knees jabbing my insides put my inner
mother-bear on 24/7 high-alert. I am always on the prowl for potential
threats to my child's well-being.
My instinct is to do everything in my power to keep out danger, but if I
think I can find a cave isolated enough to protect this child of mine
from all the threats this world brings, I am sorely mistaken. I would
also be resisting the Advent call to stare darkness in the face and keep
being present, holding out hope for something more powerful than death.
Our God did what every mother would shudder to do. He sent his child
directly into the heart of evil with no protection, save faith, hope,
and extravagant love. God the Father did not shelter Jesus from the
terror and loss of living in our broken, bleeding world. He chose
instead to be present with us, to enter into our pain. During Advent, as
we prepare our hearts for the arrival of the vulnerable Christ child,
our call is to likewise look pain and darkness full on.
I'd rather not. I'd rather think that I am somehow immune from tragedy.
That, if I am protective, vigilant, and well-informed enough, my baby
will not develop cancer or get shot walking to school. Like the wealthy
residents of Elysium,
I'd rather escape to a pristine man-made planet if things on earth get
too nasty, or at least carve out my little sheltered corner of the world
where bad things can't come in, where my baby is safe. Yet, that is not
the Advent call. The Advent call goes against all natural instincts: Don't escape. Don't self-protect. Enter in. Be present.
Why on earth would we do that? Faced with the weight of our human
condition, won't we collapse under the grief? Won't our hearts be
crushed? It's easier to go on living if we just look the other way,
pretend like things are not so bad, and say under our breath, "That
won't happen to me or my loved ones."
We hear most frequently that Advent is about waiting. And it is. It's
about living in the tension between the present reality and the
hoped-for future where God dwells with us in fullness. But we cannot
truly open our hearts to wait on God to act until we acknowledge just
how bad our current predicament is. Until we enter into the pain of
being human and realize nothing we can do will protect us from this
pain.
In The Prophetic Imagination, Walter Brueggemann describes
this paradox. Examining the ministry of the biblical prophets, including
Moses, Jeremiah, and Jesus, he concludes that it is only when we face
the darkness and allow ourselves to grieve that something new can
emerge. The work of grief is "the precondition of joy," Brueggemann
writes. As Jesus says, "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be
comforted" (Matt. 5:4). In other words, when we allow ourselves to be
disturbed out of complacency, we make room in our hearts and lives for
the kingdom of God to emerge and amaze us. Advent, then, is about
letting ourselves be disturbed, shaken out of numbness, so we can long
for something more, something beyond our human capacity.
I also like how Parker Palmer describes this process in his book A Hidden Wholeness.
Sometimes it hurts too much to hold together both the hope of wholeness
and the present pain. It makes our hearts break. But a broken heart,
Palmer says, isn't necessarily a bad thing. You can think of it as
something broken apart and shattered, like glass, or as something broken open,
like a crack in a seed about to sprout. "As I stand in the tragic gap
between reality and possibility," he writes, "this small, tight fist of a
thing called my heart can break open into a greater capacity to hold
more of my own and the world's suffering and joy, despair and hope."
Opening our hearts to pain, according to Palmer, increases our capacity
for hope.
During Advent, we wait and hope patiently in the darkness for the
emergence of Christ's light. We allow our hearts to break as we face the
tragic reality of our world, so that through the cracks God's newness
can emerge. As a new mother, I take heart in knowing that God is with me
as I bring a tiny baby into a cold, dark world. He is with me not just
as a presence from afar; he is with me intimately as a parent who has
gone through the same thing. In this knowledge, and in the life, death,
and resurrection of his Son, I have hope. Come, Lord Jesus.
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Yesterday was a day that took me one step closer to coming to terms with what I've been facing lately... a lot of it is taking steps to move past trying to reason things out with Almighty God. that's what i tend to do... over-analyze and try to figure out what He's trying to do. it's all futile. puny little human me. ha! who do i think i am?
this process also greatly involves learning to actually accept God's sovereignty - in my life and over all things. i have once again been reminded of that disconnect between what i know and what i live. that's why lately as i've talked to the Lord, i've been uttering the words of the father in Mark 9:24... Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!
i believe what Your Word says... i believe You can do anything... i believe You are in control of all things, that You have a plan for our lives, that everything will work together for good... I BELIEVE. but help me, Lord, to live out what i believe! and that's where i'm at right now.
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i wanted to make sure i kept a record of this blog post from Christianity Today. it ties in pain and hope and Christ and Advent and Christmas... everything that characterizes my life right now. it's a perspective that i feel still needs time to settle in. there are always periods in my walk with Christ where i start to feel calloused. it's usually stress and bitterness that forms this filth around my heart - and that filth eventually solidifies if i don't give it the attention it needs right away. and since i haven't quite been dealing with all this in the most productive and healthy manner, here i am waiting for the Lord to help me chip away at the mess that surrounds my heart.
but i'm grateful. even though i still feel a bit stuck... i know He is with me.
so, today... it was a lot about opening up. pouring out my heart to my God who loves me through and through and knows all the pain i've stored up in there over the years. opening my heart up to pain - bringing all that to the surface - the worries, the fears, the frustration with the unknown...all of that. He's helping me process it so that i can start to genuinely experience the hope that Advent and Christ's life, death and resurrection can bring to a weary heart and soul.
thank You, Lord, for your kindness and compassion. help me through this, Lord... only You can.
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