 You'd rather be anywhere but here For when here is not enough surely it's time to be there. Though somehow there always becomes here and there you are again! So be here now. Then you can be anywhere.  Sitting around a campfire years ago, I led a group of seminarians and professors in a time of silence.
Afterwards, one of the professors shared that not long into the quiet she began to smell something unsavory. After a few moments, she realized the smell was body odor and a moment later realized it was her own! Her first response was shame. Since it was at the beginning of our time she decided that rather than get up and leave, she would sit with her shame and her body odor in the holy silence. And slowly she began to feel the love of God envelop her and speak lovingly to her from within herself. Within minutes she went from shame to accepting and even appreciating her humanity. This is the humanity the Son of God entered long ago. Although we clean up the site of Jesus' birth in story and song, the reality is he was born in a barn of some sort. He was born to parents who had been on a long, dusty journey. And if you've ever been present at a birth, you know it's not neat and tidy. Consider those smells. You could say the site and smell of his birth was as shameful as the site and smell of his death. As an adult, Jesus continued to enter deeply into humanity even using dirt (humus) and spit to heal. What some may consider gross he transformed into a means of grace. Maybe Jesus was telling us something about being human. You don't need to be ashamed. Shame is a lonely place, it has been from the beginning (just ask Adam & Eve or the professor sitting at the campfire!). Jesus' own lineage, his family tree, was marked by shame--adultery, incest, prostitution and murder (as well as people who did little to make a name for themselves, good or bad)! Yet it is here, from and among the lonely, shameful places and people that Jesus was born, lived and died. What do we make of this? Clearly God is up to something. This story has something to say. Here is a God who from the moment humanity felt shame and hid, entered in with words and care (Genesis 3). Then when they came out of hiding, offered them the hard work of love as the pathway to transformation. The Incarnation, this Word becoming flesh in Jesus, reiterates and provides an exclamation point--it's into our shame where God chooses to come and again offers transforming love. Had she not noticed her body odor and allowed God into her shame, the professor may have missed the Holy Voice speaking words of love to her. She could have missed the Beloved leading her to accepting and appreciating her own humanity (which then overflows into accepting and appreciating the humanity of others). Yes, Christmas is full of good smells (fresh pine, cinnamon, gingerbread, peppermint and orange) and we can certainly celebrate those. But what if we miss the message of the manger because we're overly focused on the savory? What are the unsavory parts of the season? Where are you most experiencing shame and loneliness in your life right now? In other words, what or where are you hiding? Perhaps if we come out of hiding and acknowlege what "stinks" we may witness anew the Christ who was born in an ancient barn and laid in a manger. Jesus is the face of God, the One who comes to us right in our humanity (especially there) with Good News, transforming our stench into an aroma pleasing to the Lord. Breathe deep!  I hate the phrase "holiday rush."
It seems like a cultural expectation. It's one I can let myself get catapulted into way too easily. Whether it's allowing my December to fill up or speaking and acting like I'm constantly behind or my to-do list is bearing down on me. Plus the holidays can really bring my compulsive perfectionism to the surface which adds yet another layer of drivenness. How present are you when you're rushing to buy presents? How much of the Christmas season are you truly enjoying as you try to attend and do everything you're "supposed to" in order to make the days merry? I can barely listen or see anything when in a hurry. And taste...how much of my meal (especially those holiday treats!) do I actually taste when I'm in a rush? Not much. When the Psalmist reminds us to "taste and see that the Lord is good" (Psalm 34:8), I don't think that can happen if we're too caught up in the hustle and bustle. The next line of the Psalm says, "blessed is the one who takes refuge in him." Do I even stop long enough to allow God to be a refuge? Not nearly enough. I don't know about you, but I want to taste more of that blessing. What if we join God in the present by tasting? It can be our Advent practice this week. Rather than rush a meal, gulp down a cup of coffee or gobble the Christmas cookie, let's...
What will we discover? How will it shape our day? I wonder if it will allow us some needed space to notice how God is present with us, already offering us refuge (and other good gifts). Perhaps in doing something as simple as tasting, we'll taste the goodness of God.  "It's going to be a long Advent," my friend said.
She's experiencing and anticipating a long period of darkness. I, too, lament as I listen to the losses of those I sit with in spiritual direction or read news and see images of tragedy and anxiety around the world. Advent's holy invitation is to get in touch with our longing for the Light to come--for hope, peace, joy and love to return to our lives and to our world. Even when the night grows long and deepens, we wait. So how do we survive the dark? Mira, an early 16th century poet in India who knew suffering and helped others who suffered, wrote the following lines: I know a cure for sadness: Let your hands touch something that makes your eyes smile. I bet there are a hundred objects close by that can do that. My eyes smile when I think of my daughter's hand in mine, the coziness of a certain blanket, the fluffiness of the neighbors' cat who comes over for a daily visit, the smoothness of a stone with the word "TRUST" carved into it...but what do my eyes fall on in this moment? For THIS moment is where God comes to meet me. It's my mint green velour rocking chair. An ordinary object found right where I am. THIS is where God finds me, right where I am. And there's beauty there, MIra reminds me. So without a book or something to accomplish, my eyes smile as I sit down in this chair that tenderly holds me in the dark.
May you touch something that makes your eyes smile and in doing so be reminded that God is near...no matter how dark. |
AuthorKasey is a scarf, ball and club juggling spiritual director just outside of Nashville, TN. Play helps her Type-A, Enneagram 1 personality relax, creating space for poetry and other words to emerge. She also likes playing with theological ideas like perichoresis, and all the ways we're invited into this Triune dance. Archives
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