Here, Messiah Comes

Some of us have been waiting a very long time. We have never stopped believing, never stopped looking, never stopped hoping for God. We have been as faithful as we know how to be. 

Will Messiah come? 

Some of us have worked our asses off, frankly. We've done the right things, the necessary things, the hard things. Some of us have had the rug pulled out from under us by the very God we expected to have our backs, and we feel disoriented, betrayed, or confused. We're just trying to make sense of it all.

Will Messiah come? 

Some of us have never quite found where we belong. Maybe we thought we had, a few times. We've tried over and over and over again. But it hasn't worked out. It always seems to end up the same way, in failure, disappointment, regret. We feel isolated and perhaps a little jaded in the end. We find a way to keep going, but..

Will Messiah come? 

These are the stories of Anna (the prohetess, in Luke 2:36-38), of Nicodemus (in John 3:1-7), and of the woman at the well (also in John 4:4-30). But, as with many of the stories depicted in scripture, we find our stories in theirs. What did these three very different people with very different experiences have in common?

They all met the Messiah. Jesus came to them all, one by one.

Jesus came to the woman who had been looking for him, praying for him, seeking him her whole life. She recognized him and rejoiced.

Jesus came to the man who already had all the answers, who had worked hard and was doing what he knew to be right. 

It disoriented him.

Jesus came to the woman whose life hadn't gone the way she had hoped. She was judged. She was isolated. She was ... surprised.

Because the Messiah came to them all -- the ones who were ready, and the ones who were not; the ones who had it all figured out, and the ones who did not. 

In the first week of Advent, I was happy to remember that life, hope, salvation -- it comes for us, ready or not!

This second week it strikes me that, regardless of our stories, regardless of the twists and turns our lives take, regardless of our mistakes, our failures, our disappointments or regrets: Christ comes to us. 

In other words, it doesn't matter what kind of mess we are right now, he comes. But it also doesn't matter what kind of mess we've always been, he comes. If we have lived faithfully, he comes. If we have been Pharisees, he comes. If we are living day to day just trying to make things work, he meets with us -- right in the middle of our mundane tasks. Right here. Right now.

Will we recognize him? Will we rejoice? Will we let the disorientation phase us, or will we press in ... and be transformed?

Because it is here, wherever here is, right now, that Messiah comes.

Ready or Not

I'm not ready for "happy holidays," for Advent reflections, cheesy movies, or new years. 

Don't get me wrong, I love this time of year. But it doesn't seem to matter how much I look forward to the season, it sidles in while I'm distracted, overwhelmed, or, you know, still in bed with the covers pulled over my head.

     Wait, what's that noise? Oh, it's just the holidays breaking in through the living room window.

     Eeeeek!

Maybe some of you like the way it sneaks up on you. You're in the grocery store and jingle bells starts playing overhead. You feel a little more cheerful as you drop canned goods in your cart and weave in and out of the egregious number of people standing oblivious in the middle of the aisles.

     DEAR HEAVENS, PEOPLE, PLEASE STOP STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE AISLES.

     *ahem*

But maybe, like me, you feel like Advent is a houseguest who always arrives a day earlier than expected. You haven't made the bed yet, haven't vacuumed, haven't fixed the toilet or finished the laundry or built the back deck or really done any of the things with your life that you wanted to do or thought you would do or planned to do. 

Maybe, like me, if you really got right down to it, you feel a little lost, whiplashed even, like you've been muddling around in - if not the dark, well, the half-light of perpetual dusk, anyway.  

Well, we've got good company.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;

on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.

Isaiah 9:3, Matthew 4:16

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

Isaiah 42:16

And, of course, that's the whole point of Advent, isn't it? Christ came for the lost, the lonely, the overwhelmed ... the underwhelmed. He came for the isolated, the addicted, the abandoned, the oppressed -- ALL people walking in darkness. And he comes for us still. Light and love break in on us where we are, in the midst of our stumbling, our grief, our not-knowing, our doubts and fears and longings unfulfilled, our desire for hope and meaning and something more. 

So, kudos to those who are on top of things, who aren't lost or weary or disoriented. I rejoice with the ones who already have their Christmas decorations out, who are listening to holiday music and baking, those who made it to church this morning, those who were ready and more than ready for the promise the season offers. Seriously, we probably all want to be you. And the good news is that the light is coming for us all, independent of us and our efforts and our preparedness, regardless. 

Ready or not.

Failure is an Option

It's OK to be sad. Even when the sadness stretches on longer than you thought possible, longer than you want it to, longer than you think it should.  Maybe you knew that.  Maybe, like me, you needed to be reminded.

But did you know it's OK to feel like a failure sometimes?  Yep.  It's especially helpful when you recognize what those feelings mean -- and what they don't.

For example, feeling like a failure does not actually mean that you are one.  It does not mean that you are worthless, that your value is diminished at all.  It does not mean that your future is bleak, that you are condemned to some sub-par existence for the rest of your life, that you are somehow 'less than.'  It does not mean that you didn't live up to your potential somehow (or that you did and failure is all you have to offer).  Failure is not the final word, the final judge, the final power.  

Feelings of failure are most often just alerting you to two important things:  

1. You have experienced [significant] loss. 

2. Shame has attached itself to that loss and may be keeping you from moving through it.

Feelings of failure are the very edge of a crater left by a meteor strike.  The meteor may have been large or small, but the feelings are simply your heart's attempt to tell you that there is a hole and it hurts.  It can be a specific, tangible loss, like the loss of a loved one, the loss of a job, even the loss of someone's good opinion.  But there are sneaky losses, too, like the loss of community or the loss of a sense of purpose.  Loss can be sudden and overt, or it can be an ebbing-away over time.  Either way, the feelings tell us that something we value is gone (or seems endangered).

Why is that important?  Well, it tells us how to care for ourselves. It gives us direction for moving forward toward life. And the first thing we must do is creep past the edges and acknowledge the size and depth of the crater.  

It might seem like walking off the edge of a cliff, but if we can acknowledge our loss, rejection, anger, if we can turn away from blame and shame, we can eventually face what is at the bottom of the crater: Fear, sadness, loneliness, and a set of hard circumstances that we must learn how to live through.  As scary, uncomfortable, or overwhelming as this may seem, it is the beginning of acceptance and grief.  

Grief is a much healthier and more honoring response to loss than blame, shame, and guilt.  When we grieve, it can move us away from shame and into a place of empowerment so that we can eventually turn to new, nourishing sources of life and fulfillment.  Grief allows us to let go of something we cannot have so that we may receive and participate in good things again.

But to truly grieve and grow again, we must name, speak, and turn away from shame as the destructive force that it is.  Shame is like radiation that emanates from a meteor strike.  (I think this is because human beings are not just dirt and earth but powerful energy sources.  When energy sources are damaged, they can cause further destruction to themselves and others.)  Often we are not aware that shame is happening, but we definitely experience the fallout when we begin to believe all those (often very compelling) lies about ourselves.  If you are getting messages that your value is somehow diminished, that you are unworthy and life is bleak, it is shame radiation poisoning.  It's a lie, a thinking error, a false conclusion, a reaction that, left unaddressed, will only cause more damage to you and others.

When we speak our shame, when we have the opportunity to grieve,  we are finally freed to examine our values. We no longer identify with the crater; we are recovering from it. We are bigger and have more to offer than a hole and radiation poisoning. Now we can ask things like,  "What need was being filled by this important relationship I lost?"  Was the relationship healthy and good and honorable?  Was the need being filled in a way consistent with your values?  Are there good, healthy new places to take this need now?  

It is only at this stage that we develop the resilience to recognize whether any actual failure occurred.  

Because that's the final reason it's OK to feel like a failure sometimes.  Failure happens! In fact, failure is necessary for our maturity.  We MUST fail in order to learn and grow, and we must embrace and grow through the feelings that result from failure, whether it be ours or someone else's.  

For more on shame and resilience, look up Brené Brown's work on BreneBrown.com or anywhere books are sold.