listening to the wisdom of the spirit @ l'arche ottawa: advent one

The blessings of driving to and from Ottawa, ON on a regular basis to be with my friends in the community of L'Arche involves extended solitude, reflection and taking in the natural beauty of the ever-changing landscape. Right now, the fields are brown, the trees are bare and the land is covered in a light coating of snow. Sometimes the sun pierces the day and brings afternoon shadows that are long and deep. At other times the whole realm appears to be enveloped in a shroud of light gray so that there is no demarcation between the earth and sky. Mary Oliver gets it right in her poem, "White Eyes."

In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird 

with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us 

he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds 

from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake.
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last. 

So, it's over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he's done all he can. 

I don't know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds— 

which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent— 

thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird 

that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.

Given the peculiarities of banks, pension checks and calendars I had to change my travel plans this month by a day. That gave me the chance to drive up in the morning gray one day and return twenty-four hours later in the afternoon sun. In-between, I dined with my friends in the Wabana House, watched a little TV news with Jim and Randy, participated in the monthly community night gathering of L'Arche, celebrated a simple Eucharist for the start of Advent, and went grocery shopping the next day for Sunday's Open House Holiday Tea. Like everywhere else at this time of year, there's a lot going on - and even more to do. Sometimes, as I know from my days of parish ministry, it feels like too much. Given the ever encroaching darkness that descends each afternoon, I wasn't too surprised to find many feeling just a wee bit weary. Sitting on a sofa sharing yawns with Jules and Pierre before the celebration confirmed my hunch that the Holy Spirit was whispering words of wisdom to me: toss out the homily you prepared, man, and just offer up a few words of comfort and joy. And it is always best to trust the Spirit. What came out was an abbreviated message rooted in a text from St. John's gospel: "I have told you these things so my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete." Here is what I had prepared to share and simplified and shortened:  

Jesus is speaking to his disciples here before his journey to the Cross. He wants to encourage his friends during a hard and dark time to trust that God's love is greater than fear. Or exhaustion. Or shame. So he reminds them that he has given them his joy - that is, Jesus has blessed his friends and placed within their hearts the essence of grace (chara in Greek from the root charis meaning grace) so that their experience of the Lord's presence might become complete (from the Greek word pléroó meaning filled full.) Joy is the gift of grace Jesus gives to all those who love him. And the more we love him, the more our hearts trust from the inside out that God's love makes us whole. Complete. Filled full or fulfilled. 

Jesus knew from his own experience that all around us are events and feelings and experiences that can wound us. Or confuse us. Or exhaust us. He felt those things and practiced trusting God's love so that even when he felt weary or afraid or alone, he knew that God's joy was greater than his feelings. Right? Now this took a lot of practice. It doesn't happen automatically. Or easily. Jesus spent a lot of time quietly listening for the assurance of God's love. Fr. Richard Rohr likes to say that the way of Jesus involves: "Sitting in silent prayer until the silence silences us, choosing gratitude until we become grateful, and praising God until we ourselves are a living act of praise." Silence, gratitude and praise are the ways we nourish joy. Grace. The love of God.

And the reason we practice nourishing joy is that we will all have experiences that wear us down and tire us out. Even good things can do this. And when they happen, we can easily lose touch with the grace that Jesus has planted in our hearts. We can lose our connection with joy. So the Church has created seasons for us to practice strengthening our joy. In Advent Jesus asks us to learn to become quiet.  All around us people are getting ready for parties - buying gifts - and putting up decorations. And none of this is wrong. It's fun, right? But none of these things strengthen our joy so that we grow in grace and trust.

So Advent asks us to get quiet so that we can look for... a baby. A little gift of life and love. Nothing huge or grand. Often, the baby Jesus is hidden. In a manger. In some place unexpected. And ordinary. Not a throne. Or a palace. Or a shopping mall. But in a little bed among farm animals and hay. The invitation is to learn to look for small signs of love and hope, comfort, joy and grace. For the more we can see the joy of Jesus in our small and ordinary days, the more we can grow in trusting God. It's like our Advent wreaths: we start out with one small candle in the darkness. And over the course of a month we light additional candles - and the light grows - until we light the center candle, the Christ candle, and the light shines in the darkness.

This Advent, then, is not about doing more. God doesn't need us to work harder to grow in God's love. God asks us to be a little more quiet so that we can let the grace Jesus has planted in our hearts deepen. Ripen. Become complete and full. I like how a friend of mine put it: God doesn't ask us to work harder at loving and being prayerful so that we earn God's love. No, God simply asks us to love Jesus so that God's love within us may become full. And here's the real blessing: the more we love and trust this love, the more loving we become ourselves. We don't love others to earn God's love. We love God and God changes us into love from the inside out. And that is what they call the good news for Advent. To me, it feels like this in the old Christmas carol:

O come let us adore him, O come let us adore him,

O come let us adore him: Christ the Lord.

credits
+ John Comfort/L'Arche Ottawa
+ liturgy.co.nz
+ John Comfort/L'ARche Ottawa