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Advent Paradox

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Advent is not just the waiting and watching we do in December as we prepare for the annual celebration of the birth of Jesus. Advent is the training ground for how to live as watchful, expectant people the entire year. Expectancy (as I’ve said in other posts) is not about entitlement or having my personal agenda met; it is about remembering what it feels like to be wide-eyed and full of wonder in spite of tons of evidence to the contrary.

During Advent we are reminded of the paradoxes and incongruities of life:
Light and Darkness
Faith and Fear
Joy and Sorrow
Vulnerability and Power
Weakness and Strength
Done, but not Complete
Already and Not Yet
These pairs of contrasting ideas are not just for Advent. They are the daily themes and dilemmas of ordinary, everyday Christians–the people who believe that an embodied, flesh-and-blood Messiah has already come, but that the transformation of the world is not yet complete.

Theologian Walter Brueggemann describes Advent with an elegant paradox. “Advent does not begin in buoyancy or celebration or in a shopping spree. The natural habitat of Advent is a community of hurt. It is the voice of those who know profound grief, who articulate it and do not cover it over. But this community of hurt knows where to speak its grief, toward whom to address its pain….And because the hurt is expressed to the One whose rule is not in doubt, the community of hurt is profoundly a community of hope.”*

What Brueggemann describes is what I imagine as the Body of Christ. I would love to say that Church is both a community of hurt and a community of hope. But many of the churches I have attended and maybe many of your churches are not safe places for hurt. The Church is not always a place where I feel I can show up with all of my weaknesses and my sorrows. It often does good works for the weak and suffering in the broader community outside its walls, but we don’t often share our own hurt and failures. As a consequence, I see little expression of real hope and joy within.

And I know I/we have failed when absent church members say to me: “I’ll come back to church when I lose 20 pounds; I’ll come to church after my divorce; I’ll come to church when my son gets out of treatment; I’ll come to church when I get a job.” Their shame and their sorrow are too embarrassing to bring through the church door. Without their life all scrubbed and together they don’t want to come.

As someone who has had a lifelong relationship with Church, I think, “If we cannot bring our hurt and our brokenness into the nave, what business are we in? We live in a culture and a country of “brokenness avoidance.” It’s not okay to be less than perfect or at least on the way to perfection—even in church.

The one place people describe as both a community of hurt and a community of hope is the Twelve Step programs of Alcoholics Anonymous and Al-Anon. The assumption when you walk in the door is that you hurt, that you are broken, that your life is unmanageable. You can no longer do life without a community or without a Higher Power. This is a community of brokenness. In sharing brokenness, there is laughter and prayer and healing. “In the rooms” people share their “experience, strength, and hope.” But they can only share those things because of their weakness. Their powerlessness and the unmanageability of their lives is the ticket into “the rooms.” Weakness and strength are both part of the package. First a community of hurt, then a community of hope. This is what Advent looks like.

Darkness and Light resized

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*Walter Brueggemann, Advent /Christmas Proclamation 3: Aids for Interpreting the Lessons of the Church Year, Series B (Philadlephia: Fortress, 1984), 9.

 

Action Figures?

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As young kids, my sons toted around four-inch tall plastic creatures called action figures. Some of the figures were from comic book series like Masters of the Universe or GI Joe. They appeared in our house after birthday parties and visits to friends’ houses. These characters were often gruesome and scary in appearance. Their skin tones were white, blue, and brown and their bodies were over-muscled from head to toe. Their weapons and outfits proclaimed power and war and a “don’t mess with me” message. Action figures were about just that: action. “Destroy now, think later.”

I understand the desire of young children to feel strong and safe and even superhuman. As an adult, I have the same desire. I want to fix the brokenness in the world and in my family. Swift and direct action seems, well, the best course of action to correct the errors of the universe.

A few years ago I was talking to a friend about how my actions and interference often backfire; they cause more trouble than healing. Without considering my own bad behavior and flaws, I try to take the inventory of those around me and tell them how to improve their lives—without a clue how to change my own. Not only is my action arrogant but my advice is often wrong. I told my friend I needed to tote around a non-action figure, a reminder for me to stop, think, and mind my own business first.

A week later, my friend showed up with a gift for me: maybe the first and only non-action figure. This wild-haired seven-inch plastic doll reminds me to consider my actions. She says it with words, duct tape, gloves, and footgear. The Step 1 and Step 2 on her feet refer to the first of the Twelve Steps of AA and Al-Anon.
 1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol–that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
For the word “alcohol” in Step 1, I can substitute just about any noun. I am powerless over institutions, my children, my spouse, my colleagues, my friends, the government,…most everything in my life except myself. These Steps remind me that I am not superhuman, that I am not the Master of the Universe, that sometimes I need to surrender my actions to a Power greater than myself.

Non Action Figure Resized

No Other Gods Before Me

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A friend noticed this about my posts: “You often start with an apology,” she said. She’s probably right. I don’t pretend to be an expert on prayer or the Gospel or anything else. When I write I’m usually thinking out loud. Sometimes I don’t know what’s swirling around in my mind until I put it in words on paper. Words on paper or a computer screen help me to organize my thoughts. Maybe that’s strange for someone who is always floundering for words in prayer.

So here is another open session of my thoughts. When I was a kid, I memorized the Ten Commandments at age 8. The meaning of the first commandment seemed obvious. “That shalt have no other gods before me.” (Exodus 20:3 KJV) We didn’t worship any other god in my house but the one true God, so how hard was that?  But the subtleties of the first commandment became the discussion of  many a Sunday School class.

People in our church didn’t use alcohol because they thought it was a violation of the first commandment. Alcohol was a false god. It was a black and white issue. All drinking was bad. There was no such thing as appropriate alcohol consumption. I’ve seen enough addiction in my life to know that alcohol can be a god for some people. Service to that god can ruin their lives and wreak havoc on the lives of their families and friends. I have also seen people who can drink without detriment to their life and work. They don’t get drunk, act stupid, or get mean. I too have enjoyed a glass or two of wine in my time without ill effect. (The church of my adulthood does not have the same prohibitions as the church of my childhood.)

But  now I’m going to wax a little prudish.  In spite of people not getting drunk or not being alcoholic, there still seems to be a bit of spirits worship going on in the culture. I go to few parties or events where alcohol is not the centerpiece. A party without booze is almost unimaginable for many. My first experience of this was in college. There was more than one guy who wouldn’t date me because I didn’t drink: “How can she be any fun?” It’s tough to be a non-drinker in a social world—even an occasional non-drinker. If I choose not to drink on a particular day, I’m lucky to find an interesting alternative on the drink table  besides bottled water or a diet soda.  I know some recovering alcoholics who always bring their own non-alcoholic beverage to events because they have had the same experience.

I’m not finished with my ruminations on the first commandment, because I’m interested in knowing what I really worship– where I spend my energy, my time, my money, my allegiance–be it alcohol, food, my cellphone, or endless games of Scrabble.  More later….

Here are some resources for serious concerns about alcohol use:
AA Alcoholics Anonymous–“Alcoholics Anonymous® is a fellowship of men and women who share their experience, strength and hope with each other that they may solve their common problem and help others to recover from alcoholism.”

Al-Anon–a fellowship of men and women who “provide strength and hope for friends and families of problem drinkers”

Powerless Prayer

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Step One of the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous and Al-Anon is “We admitted we were powerless over alcohol–that our lives had become unmanageable.” Because my life is often unmanageable and chaotic, I say the first step a lot, substituting other words for alcohol: sugar, my adult children, the government, the neighbor’s dogs, the weather, the church, my computer….” The list is endless.

A popular rewrite of Step One says, “We admitted we were powerless over people, places, and things.” A friend of mine likes to say, “We are powerless over ‘nouns’.” Step One is a way to acknowledge my inability to fix everyone or everything that displeases me or makes my life feel out of control. Step Two invites God into the chaos: “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.” It doesn’t say God will fix the annoying nouns in my life to my liking; it just says God will restore me to sanity. My take is: God will fix me—or at least shape up my attitude.

When I wake up in the middle of the night obsessing about the crazy-making  people and things in my life and creating new ways to repair them, I have a choice to make. I can continue down the delicious path of resentment, blame, self-righteousness, and Möbius-strip problem-solving. And I’ll lose all hope of sleep. Or I can wave my white flag and surrender to the prayers of Step One and Two. “I give up. I admit I am powerless over________. Please, God, restore me to sanity.”

Photo of Möbius strip: David Benbennick from Wikipedia site under terms of  GNU Free Documentation License