Lead kindly light, amidst th’encircling gloom;
Lead thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home;
Lead thou me on!
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene, one step enough for me.
~John Henry Newman

This morning I listened to these lyrics sung by three Irish singers whose voices blend so beautifully the music pulls at your heart strings. The words of this hymn written in 1833 fit the mood in which I walked and they gave me comfort on the path. Though the darkness had lifted from the night before, I felt as if I was still walking in a shadow that was difficult to shake. And so I walk in it, tried to learn from its wisdom.

Yesterday had handed me a few lumps of coal. Their imaginary black, shining roughness was still tucked neatly into my pockets much as the real ones of my childhood could often be found in hidden places after a visit to one of the many Southern Ohio coal tipples. Their darkness was weighing me down and I was trying to make sense of them. A phone call with a frightened young mother dug into my hip. Was I able to say any thing at all that was helpful? Another call in which I learned of ways I have disappointed pressed into my thigh. Several colleagues were struggling with other challenges and I felt the weight of their fatigue. Another jab.

It is often easy to hold up the darkness as holy, as we are in our faith community in these Advent days, when it is simply a metaphor. As if metaphors were ever simple! But when real darkness threatens as it does those who struggle with depression and the affect of little sunlight, this holy darkness it is something that has a life of its own. How to hold those places where people are flailing in the darkness that threatens to overwhelm?

Shuffling along as I did this morning with this two hundred year old hymn as my soundtrack, I thought of all the kindly lights that walk with us. These words do not offer laser light shows but a simple, soft illumination that leads us when we feel far from what we know to be home. It is a walking meditation of sorts, isn’t it? One foot in front of the other. Step. Pause. Step. Always held in a soft glow that only illuminates just enough of the path to keep us firmly anchored in the present moment. Which, after all, is all we can be sure of. Who holds this light for you? How are your feet being led on the path?

As I walked, Light kindly leading me, I offered prayers of peace for the young mother and those I am blessed to share with in ministry. I also asked for greater humility to recognize that disappointments are a part of living and I would need to find a way to make it right. Soft, kinder light often is the path partner of the humble walker.

As a child I loved to go to my grandmother’s house and have sleepovers. In her tiny living room stood a brown stove that heated the main floor. Beside the stove was a card table with a jigsaw puzzle always ready to entertain. Sitting by this stove, fueled by coal, we ate homemade peanut butter fudge and brought tiny pieces together to make a larger picture. That coal brought both warmth and light. And comfort. And a sense of knowing where I belonged, that I was loved and that darkness gives birth to light. I could not have imagined nor seen the life that would unfold for me.

It is a distant scene of memory led by a kindly light to illuminate a new day. One step at a time.

“Stay awake therefore, for you do not know on what day God is coming.”
~Matthew 24:42

The morning walk came early today. Before sunrise. Three shadows moved along the street. One tall. One shorter. One with four legs. The chill of the morning air, though not as cold as it should be, was still cool enough to begin the waking up process. The final jolt was to come from the coffee we would pick up toward the end of our walk at our local coffee haunt.

Arriving at the coffee shop we found its owner bustling about with intention. One man, in business attire, waited patiently. We watched as barista and customer began to load two large coffee urns and all the needed cream and complements to go out the door. We joked at the sheer volume of caffeine. “It’s going to be some day!” the customer exclaimed. My husband responded quickly, ” Stay awake!”

Stay awake. It is a greeting that is a familiar one in Advent. This past week’s scripture urges for wakefulness, for being on guard for the ways in which God breaks into our days, our lives. Many find these texts confounding, troubling, not very ‘Christmasy’. And in truth they are not. Their intention was to remind people of times that were yet to come and they did it in ways that were filled with language that meant things to the early listeners that gets lost on our 21st century ears.

But staying awake is a good practice for Advent. In the darkness and cold that surrounds we can be inclined to hunker down and keep our gaze very narrow. The journey of Advent urges us to do otherwise. Stay awake! The Holy is going to show up, is right before your eyes. Stay awake! Something amazing is going to happen and it would be a shame if you missed it.

Staying awake can be particularly difficult in the frenzy that can masquerade as holiday spirit. Being present in the moment, taking time to rest and connect with your own breath can seem impossible in the pursuit of what ‘needs’ to be done. But ‘stay awake’ is the message we receive at the beginning of Advent, whether it is convenient or not.

So, how might you stay awake in these days? How might a practice of being watchful for the in-breaking of God be on your Christmas list? How might it be possible to slow down the pace enough to be awake if, when, the Holy comes to call?

Might I suggest getting a nice cup of coffee and sitting down at some point of the day and begin staying awake? Who knows what might happen? There just might be a visitation by an angel, or a wise one, or a wonder beyond imagination.

Amazing things happen when we are awake.

Every time you leave home,
Another road takes you
Into a world you were never in.
New strangers on other paths await,
New places that have never seen you
Will startle a little at your entry.
Old places that know you well
Will pretend nothing
Changed since your last visit………

~John O’Donohue

On Saturday morning I was cleaning up one of the several stacks of books I have built around our house. In that cleaning up I came across this blessing of John O’Donohue, someone whose words never fail to leave me breathless. I was struck with the invitation of these words not because I am going on any trip literally but because they spoke to me of this time of Advent which we in the Christian household began an observance of yesterday. These four weeks which lead up to the celebration of Christmas are some of my favorite days in the entire year. They are not so special to me because they are filled with the hustle and bustle of malls and shopping, the electric weariness that can accompany the count down of days left to purchase gifts. No. Instead these days of Advent are actually an invitation to do the very opposite. They are an invitation to the journey of rest, reflection, darkness, waiting, expectation. The outer world seems to so willingly provide the backdrop for this journey. Days are short. Darkness is our nearly constant companion. Winter is creeping in like a thief and we are powerless over its arrival.

Today marks the six year anniversary for me of writing this daily reflection I chose to call Pause. Its beginning those years ago was humble and spontaneous really. I made the commitment to post a daily meditation for members of the faith community I serve. They would be moments when people might ‘pause’ in the course of their daily lives and connect with their breath, take a moment to check in with their spirit, to remember this journey of days that unfolds toward new birth. I never dreamed it would still continue over these six years. I have met people through this space, people I would never have otherwise. Out of these words have come conversations, prayers, disagreements, friendships and a book. It was a road that took me to a ‘world I had never been in before’.

The fact that this surprises me only shows my own dim-wittedness. Isn’t this what Advent is supposed to do? Take us on roads we have never traveled before? Toward places we have not yet known? To meet people who will surprise us, challenge us, show us the face of God? To open us to new birth?

I mean just think of this story, this very big story, which we will tell over these dark days. Angels visit. Unimaginable claims are made. People go on journeys to places they had not planned to go. Places that proved dangerous and welcoming. Strangers offer shelter. People are struck dumb with wonder. Babies are born. Many drop whatever they are doing to be a part of it all. Gifts are given.

Advent. It is not for the faint of heart. What is this Advent season holding it to you? Are you watching and waiting for the surprises? Are you allowing the darkness to be a womb where something new might be born?

John O’Donohue offers these words as blessing:

When you travel,
A new silence
Goes with you,
And if you listen,
You will hear
What your heart would
Love to say.