HORIZON by Jan Richardson
The season of Advent means there is something on the horizon the likes of which we have never seen before.
It is not possible to keep it from coming, because it will. That’s just how Advent works. What is possible is to not see it, to miss it, to turn just as it brushes past you. And you begin to grasp what it was you missed, like Moses in the cleft of the rock, watching God’s hindquarters fade in the distance.
So stay. Sit. Linger. Tarry. Ponder. Wait. Behold. Wonder.
There will be time enough for running. For rushing. For worrying. For pushing.
For now, stay. Wait.
Something is on the horizon.
Dearly Beloved,
As snow falls on snow outside my office window, I cannot help but feel like something IS indeed on the horizon. I don't know about you, but I always have quite a to-do list during this season. Cards to write, gifts to purchase and wrap, cookies to bake, memories to make, snow to shovel, services to plan and prepare for, friends to check in on, family to visit or call.
And yet, here is this invitation to stay. To sit. To tarry and ponder. To wait and behold and wonder. This morning, the snow piled on every tree branch and pine needle invites me to pause in awe. I notice footprints through fresh snow. I watch the flakes fall, like a silencing blanket.
Perhaps the most needful, the most important thing in this season -- in this moment -- is not what we will get donebut what we will notice when we pause. When we slow down. When we allow wonder to wend its way into our weary and fearful hearts and minds.
I can't help but think of the Psalmist's words: "Be still and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10). That same Psalm begins: "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." May it be so!
This week's scripture is one that the lectionary does not include: the beginning of the story of Zechariah. Zechariah is a righteous man and a priest, married to a righteous woman, Elizabeth, a descendant of Aaron (Moses's brother). Both are growing old, and they have no children. One day, as Zechariah performs his priestly duties, an angel of God tells him that Elizabeth will become pregnant and that they'll have a son who is to be named John (which means "God is gracious"). Zechariah wonders aloud how this will be since they're old, and the angel strikes him mute (by some scholars' translations, deaf as well).
I've been thinking about the attention and listening that happens when we can stop our own flow of words. When we can be still and quiet and present. "Be still and know that I am God." And there's Zechariah: silent for a time, unable to get a word out. What, I wonder, does he notice in his silent listening? Is he able to get out of his head, out of his thoughts and be still? I wonder if, in his silence, he is better able to hear and hold his wife's experience of what we'd now call a "geriatric pregnancy." I wonder what conversations he overhears between his wife and her teenage cousin Mary, also pregnant, who comes to stay with them for a time. How does his inability to speak slow him down? Force him to pause and listen in wonder and awe?
God's beloved: "There will be time enough for running. For rushing. For worrying. For pushing. For now, stay. Wait. Something is on the horizon." Let us listen together.
With love and hopeful anticipation,
Thandiwe
p.s. Want to dig in a little deeper? Read Luke chapter 1, which tells Zechariah, Elizabeth, and Mary's stories. Where do Zechariah and Mary's stories parallel? Where do they differ? What do you make of the parallels and differences?
Perhaps you want to dig a little deeper still! Read the story of Elkanah and Hannah (the prophet Samuel's parents) in 1 Samuel 1-2:10. How do the stories of Zechariah, Elizabeth and Mary parallel those of Elkanah and Hannah?
