I’ve got mountains to climb today. No, not literally. This is Indiana, after all. Yet, it can feel as exhausting, as straining, as demanding as actually climbing up a mountain. And no, I’m not whining about pre-Christmas planning at the Weber house again this year. [Though I suspect that will come before too long! The planning at least. Probably the whining too. Just sayin’!]
But that’s not the mountain I’m talking about. It is the “post-Thanksgiving, Christmas on the horizon, trying to get us to stop long enough to think about Advent” mountain. That’s what’s in front of me today. And you too, come to think about it. We’re mountain climbing this weekend. And no, I’m not thinking about the burdens of decorating or list-making. I’m not talking about the invitations and the rehearsals. I’m not talking about the travel and the forced family fun and frolic. Not, I’m talking about climbing our Advent mountain.
Uh, right. Advent Mountain. Sure. You are probably thinking that this is another one of those recapturing of childhood things again. Remember when, I’m going to say, remember when December was the slowest month? Remember when every day seemed to last forever and that our most difficult task was making sure that the sun rose and the sun set as the days marched slowly toward Christmas? Remember what a struggle that was? Remember how it seemed like climbing a mountain?
Well, I could have done that, and do remember that. But that isn’t what I meant when I drew attention to the Advent mountain. I’m talking about another daily struggle. A more adult, more contemporary struggle. It is the struggle to listen to the deepest longings of your heart.
Statistics tell us that our Western culture, our American lifestyle has made us prone to heart trouble. (Hang with me here, this is a temporary metaphor shift - we’ll get back on track - or back to mountaineering in a moment.) As my kids are fond of saying, I’m not the kind of doctor who does anybody any good, so I’m straining a bit here. But it seems to me that our heart trouble is one of two kinds. On the one hand there is the hard heart, calcified by a bad diet of bitterness or self-protection; causing blockages of circulation of that which would give us life and breath and hope. On the other hand, there is the lazy heart, wrapped in layers of self indulgence in a world that tells us we shouldn’t deny ourselves any inclination or sensation. Heart trouble.
And because of a bad heart, we are likely to shy away from an exertion on the scale of mountaineering. The thought of such an ordeal fills us with such dread that we shy away, we occupy ourselves with the illusion that we are satisfied with things as they are. We succumb to the notion that we are helpless in the face of the Christmas machine that our culture has embraced so gleefully, forgetting that there is something deeper, something more profound here than the buying and selling of good cheer. We forget, or don’t allow ourselves the chance to consider that Advent is about the response to the hungering in our hearts.
Our hearts are filled up with so many things, we forget how hungry we are. We are pulled in so many directions, given so many substances or dreams to fill the emptiness, bombarded by so many solutions to problems and needs we didn’t even realize we had until we were told about them, measured by standards we didn’t claim to reach goals we didn’t set in a lifestyle that doesn’t really satisfy, impressing people we don’t even know let alone like well enough to shape our lives around. Yet we do. We succumb to the rat race, we buy into the American Dream as the merchandisers have defined it. And we don’t know why we aren’t satisfied by that, why are hearts aren’t at rest.
Then Advent comes around again and reminds us that it is time to climb a mountain. Think about it for a moment, please. Maybe the air will be clearer up there, maybe the view will be more encompassing. It might just be worth the climb. What have to got to lose? Except a calcified heart, or a sated but unsatisfied one.
But where do we find this mountain, you might be asking. You can’t punch it into the your GPS. You can’t do a Map Quest, it doesn’t even show up on Google Maps satellite view. For a journey such as this we need a guide. Someone who has been around, someone who has seen something of this world and yet can still claim a vision of the next without cynicism or despair. A grizzled old soul, like Isaiah. He loves Advent season, does old Isaiah. We trot him out every year and hope that maybe this time we will listen to him. Maybe this time we can catch sight of the star that he navigates by. Maybe this time we can locate ourselves on the map that he draws in the dust beneath his feet. If we can keep up, that is. So, what do you say, Isaiah? Want to try one more time to call us home?
Isaiah 2:1-5 The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem. 2 In days to come the mountain of the LORD's house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. 3 Many peoples shall come and say, "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths." For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. 4 He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. 5 O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the LORD!
Quick, before the scepticism of our age grabs us again, claim the vision that Isaiah holds out for us. Take a moment and just dwell there, just hang - as our kids say - with the company on the mountain of the Lord’s house. The highest mountain, says Isaiah, will be established as the highest mountain. One day we will realize, he says, he hopes, that God’s way is the best way, God’s Word is our word, the word that speaks to us, the word that claims us, the word that soothes our hurting hearts. Let’s go and learn God’s way, the people say. There is so much to learn in the world. So many paths to follow, so many mountains to climb. When will we learn what God wants to teach us?
And what will we learn when we finally climb that highest of mountains? We will learn how to live in community. God’s way, God’s word will judge between nations, between people, God will arbitrate, not us, not our passions and our selfishness and our fears and our doubts. God will decide and will teach us how to live in community, how to live in relationship.
And once we’ve learned that, then we won’t need “peacemakers” that can destroy life, we won’t need weapons to destroy. So we will turn them into tools that bring life, instruments that feed. And we will forget that there was ever a time when we thought that the way to live was to kill.
It seems impossible in our terror filled age. Out of reach of empty hands and broken hearts. And to get there would take a monumental effort. Like climbing an mountain with bad heart. But maybe, just maybe, it is worth the risk. Ready to climb with me this Advent season?
Shalom,
Derek
But that’s not the mountain I’m talking about. It is the “post-Thanksgiving, Christmas on the horizon, trying to get us to stop long enough to think about Advent” mountain. That’s what’s in front of me today. And you too, come to think about it. We’re mountain climbing this weekend. And no, I’m not thinking about the burdens of decorating or list-making. I’m not talking about the invitations and the rehearsals. I’m not talking about the travel and the forced family fun and frolic. Not, I’m talking about climbing our Advent mountain.
Uh, right. Advent Mountain. Sure. You are probably thinking that this is another one of those recapturing of childhood things again. Remember when, I’m going to say, remember when December was the slowest month? Remember when every day seemed to last forever and that our most difficult task was making sure that the sun rose and the sun set as the days marched slowly toward Christmas? Remember what a struggle that was? Remember how it seemed like climbing a mountain?
Well, I could have done that, and do remember that. But that isn’t what I meant when I drew attention to the Advent mountain. I’m talking about another daily struggle. A more adult, more contemporary struggle. It is the struggle to listen to the deepest longings of your heart.
Statistics tell us that our Western culture, our American lifestyle has made us prone to heart trouble. (Hang with me here, this is a temporary metaphor shift - we’ll get back on track - or back to mountaineering in a moment.) As my kids are fond of saying, I’m not the kind of doctor who does anybody any good, so I’m straining a bit here. But it seems to me that our heart trouble is one of two kinds. On the one hand there is the hard heart, calcified by a bad diet of bitterness or self-protection; causing blockages of circulation of that which would give us life and breath and hope. On the other hand, there is the lazy heart, wrapped in layers of self indulgence in a world that tells us we shouldn’t deny ourselves any inclination or sensation. Heart trouble.
And because of a bad heart, we are likely to shy away from an exertion on the scale of mountaineering. The thought of such an ordeal fills us with such dread that we shy away, we occupy ourselves with the illusion that we are satisfied with things as they are. We succumb to the notion that we are helpless in the face of the Christmas machine that our culture has embraced so gleefully, forgetting that there is something deeper, something more profound here than the buying and selling of good cheer. We forget, or don’t allow ourselves the chance to consider that Advent is about the response to the hungering in our hearts.
Our hearts are filled up with so many things, we forget how hungry we are. We are pulled in so many directions, given so many substances or dreams to fill the emptiness, bombarded by so many solutions to problems and needs we didn’t even realize we had until we were told about them, measured by standards we didn’t claim to reach goals we didn’t set in a lifestyle that doesn’t really satisfy, impressing people we don’t even know let alone like well enough to shape our lives around. Yet we do. We succumb to the rat race, we buy into the American Dream as the merchandisers have defined it. And we don’t know why we aren’t satisfied by that, why are hearts aren’t at rest.
Then Advent comes around again and reminds us that it is time to climb a mountain. Think about it for a moment, please. Maybe the air will be clearer up there, maybe the view will be more encompassing. It might just be worth the climb. What have to got to lose? Except a calcified heart, or a sated but unsatisfied one.
But where do we find this mountain, you might be asking. You can’t punch it into the your GPS. You can’t do a Map Quest, it doesn’t even show up on Google Maps satellite view. For a journey such as this we need a guide. Someone who has been around, someone who has seen something of this world and yet can still claim a vision of the next without cynicism or despair. A grizzled old soul, like Isaiah. He loves Advent season, does old Isaiah. We trot him out every year and hope that maybe this time we will listen to him. Maybe this time we can catch sight of the star that he navigates by. Maybe this time we can locate ourselves on the map that he draws in the dust beneath his feet. If we can keep up, that is. So, what do you say, Isaiah? Want to try one more time to call us home?
Isaiah 2:1-5 The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem. 2 In days to come the mountain of the LORD's house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. 3 Many peoples shall come and say, "Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths." For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. 4 He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. 5 O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the LORD!
Quick, before the scepticism of our age grabs us again, claim the vision that Isaiah holds out for us. Take a moment and just dwell there, just hang - as our kids say - with the company on the mountain of the Lord’s house. The highest mountain, says Isaiah, will be established as the highest mountain. One day we will realize, he says, he hopes, that God’s way is the best way, God’s Word is our word, the word that speaks to us, the word that claims us, the word that soothes our hurting hearts. Let’s go and learn God’s way, the people say. There is so much to learn in the world. So many paths to follow, so many mountains to climb. When will we learn what God wants to teach us?
And what will we learn when we finally climb that highest of mountains? We will learn how to live in community. God’s way, God’s word will judge between nations, between people, God will arbitrate, not us, not our passions and our selfishness and our fears and our doubts. God will decide and will teach us how to live in community, how to live in relationship.
And once we’ve learned that, then we won’t need “peacemakers” that can destroy life, we won’t need weapons to destroy. So we will turn them into tools that bring life, instruments that feed. And we will forget that there was ever a time when we thought that the way to live was to kill.
It seems impossible in our terror filled age. Out of reach of empty hands and broken hearts. And to get there would take a monumental effort. Like climbing an mountain with bad heart. But maybe, just maybe, it is worth the risk. Ready to climb with me this Advent season?
Shalom,
Derek
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