My Image of God

Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her that her service is at an end, her guilt is expiated. (Isaiah 40:1)

Few scripture verses bring me the hope and confidence that these verses bring. I hear them every year during Advent time, sang them as the first reading for the office of Christmas Matins when I was a nun, and continue to draw from them. Yet, I still have to remind myself, this is the picture I should have of my God.

I grew up fearing God. I am not sure why, but I do know a picture of Jesus standing as tall as a skyscraper looking into its windows did nothing to help me see God as kind and loving.  (Whoever created that picture did not have a child in mind, and the child's inability to see metaphor....) Nor was I assured of God's love when a neighbor summed up my lack of a fear of the dark by saying, "You know God is with you everywhere, right?" Well, if it was the God who peeked through skyscraper windows, I was definitely afraid now.

I had to work hard reading scripture and spending time in reflection and meditation before I came to a better understanding of the goodness of God. It did not come to me naturally. I suspect I am not unusual in this. With commandants and laws and rules and sin, we begin to see God as the General Inspector. God would like us to see God as Comforter, as the One who speaks tenderly to us.

As I prepare for Christmas in my spiritual life, it is good for me to reflect on the words of Isaiah and remember that this is God's way of relating to me, to all of us. Advent is a good time to sit before God in silence and work on my image of God.

Finding solace in the desert

The first Sunday of Advent. Advent is a time for yearning. It is also a time for cleansing. We are told that Isaiah prophesied that a voice would cry out in the wilderness asking us to make straight the path to our God (Is. 40:9). I have always thought of Advent as a desert time, a time of personal preparation: clean out the unkind thoughts and grudges, make ready the heart to welcome Divinity in with greater fullness.

But there is another type of desert I am called to. That is to walk with another. For we each have a desert sometime in our life, times when our efforts seem to produce little fruit, when life seems dry and barren, and success and happiness are little more than a mirage. Perhaps the Baptist's call to go into the desert is a cry for me to care for a fellow sojourner whose life has become difficult.

I can fill in the valleys and make every mountain and hill low when I help to balance that person's hope. I can help diminish some of that fear and build up some of that confidence. In short, I can give encouragement and understanding. If I do this, the sojourn in the desert may be shortened, and that person will come out a whole person, not one broken and defeated.

Who of us would not profit by a bit of understanding? Yes, I may act out my fears and anxiety. But if only one person sits by me, holds my hand and hears my story, I find heart and courage. In that courage I may even find healing and wholeness.

Isn't that what the Christmas story is all about? Is it not a story of hope in the midst of a very unfair world? So let me look for that sojourner in the desert, the one who feels weighed down right now and can use a caring heart. Let me reach out not with answers, but with a sympathetic ear that listens to their story. Who knows. That may be the one thing that individual needs at this time.