Steps

No matter the direction of my journey this season, I am bound for a meeting at a manger. This is the humble event of Advent. All the lingering birds of late Autumn are singing this eventuality. All pointers are pointing toward this. Old Scripture predicts with clarity this coming that I am instinctively taking my steps toward. All music oozes with the belief; all paintings drip with cracks of this light. Eventually…Adventually….I will arrive in the deep,purple presence of a birth that recreates me…It happens season after season after season.


A green Shoot will sprout from Jesse’s stump, from his roots a budding Branch. The life-giving Spirit will hover over him, the Spirit that brings wisdom and understanding, the Spirit that gives direction and builds strength, the Spirit that instills knowledge and Fear-of-God. Isaiah 11: 1-2 (The Message).


I am reminded by this passage today how the spreading of this Hope has never been overt, only the futile attempts at squelching this Hope have been. So we may not have manger scenes in our public schools anymore and we may not have our Bible-thumping fingers on the pulse of our worldly leaders at the moment. We may never get moved to the head table close to the microphone of what is considered relevant culture. We may never obliterate the tendency of some to abbreviate the spelling of Christmas by replacing “Christ” with a scribbled cross mark tipped on its side. “Happy Holiday” as the lowest common denominator wish may be the only words we ever hear in our parking lots on our way to the mall.


I am reminded how Hope was born into such a world as this in a very quiet and nondescript way under the radar in a humble setting that made and still makes absolutely no sense to a senseless world.


Our politics will never possess the inclusiveness to bind this Hope. Our symbols will never capture the entirety of what this means. I walk toward this manger with nothing but my own inadequacies, the bread crumbs of my life discarded along the way, my personal testimony full of holes. It all falls short, doesn’t it? Even words fail, and at the point where music takes over, the praise still isn’t enough. Not the purest harmony of a choir. Not a wreath placed in honor of a soldier. Not the mass of red velvet draped across the belly of Santa. Not a deer versus sky accident. Not the crispest of silver boughs. Not even a Billy Graham prayer. We can’t wrap enough lights around the exteriors of our houses to capture the glimmer in that star.


We cannot put into power that which we have no power over.


The first step toward the manger is the recognition that there is no room in the hopelessness of man for Hope to come. I must arrive empty and agenda-less at the manger. I will miss the manger altogether if I seek another place or if I seek to make this place different.

Submitted by Kerri Snell