Stumbling Into Transformation: Advent 2019 Reflections

The book of James in the New Testament contains a verse about patience & farming that I did not encounter (or did not remember encountering) until a few days ago.

"Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains." (James 5:7) 

During this season of Advent, perhaps more than any other time of the Christian year with the exception of Lent (the pre-Easter season of reflection and penitence), I confront some, shall we say, uncomfortable parts of myself. Parts that grieve. Parts that long. Parts that seek external validation more than I'd like to admit to anyone other than my journal. Parts that are reactive and self-centered. Parts that because of words I say or actions I take that are complicit in unjust systems, cause harm to people I know intimately and people whom I will never meet. Parts that get cranky at my husband or choose convenience over thoughtfulness. Parts that would rather distract me from than invite me into what's really going on in my heart and gut. 

Not very tinsel-y and twinkly, is it? 

To me, the most powerful part of Advent is the longing and expectation for the coming of radical Love that transforms all of creation-- a Love that takes on the messiness and fleshiness of imperfect beings. 

And sometimes, darn it all, I feel that deep longing for my own transformation so profoundly. I crave it: "Make me better, God! I'm a mess! I'm in this pattern again and you mean I haven't figured it out yet?" Perhaps you can relate-- even if Christian or God language isn't your home language, perhaps you, too, have experiences of feeling like your own desire to live more in line with your values and the Transcendent (however you define this) is such a messy journey. 

I'm grateful, therefore, for the agrarian-themed reminder from James: be patient. Wait expectantly and actively, nourished, by rains-- but wait nonetheless. Rich and fruitful things grow quietly in the dark. The journey is full of fits and starts, of moments of utter surrender and moments of epiphany. 

I'm left with a question when I ponder this theme of expectation and patience: what does it look like to balance the labor of God with what God calls me and calls us to cultivate in our own lives and in the communities to which we are called and planted? When do we wait and let go, and when do we step up and make decisions and respond to the urgent cries and joys within and around us? When are we the farmers, and when is God/the Transcendent?  When are we the crop, or when are we the keepers of the crop?

Perhaps the answer lies in the discernment that we make in community, stumbling and strengthening along the way. 

With gratitude for the mess, the anticipation, and the resounding assurance of transformative Love,

Eva