Like the receptive fields, we lie fallow and waiting. The dark, feminine, elusive quality of our receptivity is not helpless passivity. We are willing to receive the Spirit. We wait to be impregnated. "Drop down dew, O heavens, from above. Let the clouds rain forth the Just One. Let the earth be opened and bud forth a Savior."
Mueller-Nelson suggests that waiting can be a burden, or, it can become a work of art. It will always be a part of our lives, so it is up to us to make the choice. Thomas Keating observes that we practice opening our hearts in silence so that God's gracious silence might envelop us in love. One begets the other. Advent gives us rituals and symbols to help us mature into creative and artful waiters: using the Advent wreath and calendar, "inching up on Christmas by preparing our homes, keeping its secrets, watching for signs" are time-tested ceremonies that train us in anticipation. Modern Advent, therefore, is not penitential but exuberant albeit quiet. In our household we have long lit lots of small candles as we play chant and ancient liturgical music during the the four weeks of Advent rather than just Christmas carols. As Ms. Mueller-Nelson writes, this type of waiting reorients our hearts towards the lost art of delayed gratification.
It is important not to use the disciplines of waiting as a moralistic or manipulative tool as so many adults have experienced it in their own growing up. It is actually a tool meant to enhance life's choices where you learn to "pay now and play later." You take the cake out of the oven when it is fully baked and not, simply, because you feel impatient, when it is still runny in the center. Waiting for the right moment is certain to produce a more delicious cake. Waiting is the ingredient necessary to a life of quality.
As I ripen into the wisdom of Advent spirituality, I believe this type of waiting is exactly the right starting point. It is the foundation upon which the rest of Advent is built. But it is not the only type of waiting. As I reflect on the Scripture lessons for this season - particularly those selected from the prophet Isaiah - two other levels of waiting are given as ways of maturing in love. Isaiah 40 speaks speaks of "those who wait upon the Lord" as an active searching while Psalm 130 speaks of "waiting for the Lord" as expectant trust.
In part two of this reflection, I would like to consider what these other types of waiting might mean for those who cherish the coming birth of Christ. I sense they, too are essential for an adult Advent. But I must stop now as I am baking bread and need to give it my undivided attention. (Last week I didn't and made two stellar loaves - but forgot to add the salt!) Melissa Shaw-Smith evokes the beauty and promise of a nuanced Advent waiting in her poem, "Presence."
The year has rocked this world to its roots.
What if for one day each being put down
their burdens, their words of hate, their inhumanity
and breathed in the presence?
Stopped fighting for history, for fears, hopes, dreams
and stood facing the morning sun
letting the warmth of the moment
and the next, the next, accumulate like dust at their feet
Listened instead of spoke, acknowledged truth,
embraced silence.
What if for one day each being acknowledged the fear
and let it go? Suspended beliefs
opened their arms, drew strength
through earth, grass, rock, sand
Found the sparrow singing from a lone bush
the small heart-shaped cloud
Felt the currents of air wash of them, mingle
with the breath, and let the seams unravel
borders blend, walls dissolve
and be
one.
No comments:
Post a Comment