Scripture: “This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight.” (Matthew 3:3)

Observation: Matthew the Gospel-writer is referring to John the Baptist. For Matthew’s church and for Christians today, John was the fulfilment of a prophecy from Isaiah: “A voice cries out:
‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’” (Isaiah 40:3). The “voice” in Isaiah is an anonymous preacher living in exile in Babylon who, along with the other exiles, has heard the news that the exiles may return home to the Promised Land. The way home would be a months-long journey from modern-day Iraq to modern-day Israel, but the route would follow a counterclockwise arc around and avoiding the Arabian desert. But the preacher in Babylon is hoping to God for a straight route through the desert, making for a shorter and quicker trip. The desert itself is a barrier to the Jewish exiles returning home, and the preacher would very much like the obstacle to be removed, or at least paved over. “The sooner we can get home, the better.” Centuries later, Matthew remembers John the Baptist preaching a similar message and fulfilling what the prophecy in Isaiah was ultimately about. Now the “wilderness” is the Judean desert (not the Arabian desert), the “voice” is John the Baptist, the “Lord” is Jesus of Nazareth, and the “way” is not an actual desert highway (as in Isaiah) but a heart prepared to receive Jesus the King.

Application: Is my heart a highway for Jesus or an obstacle for Jesus? The prophet in Isaiah preached “Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway” because the way back home was not prepared and not straight. When it comes to my faith in Christ, is my heart prepared to put my whole trust in him? Is the path running through my heart and headed toward Jesus straight, or did I sabotage it with obstacles? Of course it’s not totally straight. What are the obstacles? If John the Baptist were my pastor, what would he say has to be gutted from my life so that the way of the Lord within me might be straight as an arrow?

Prayer:

From you to me the path is straight.

You take no detours, make no stops.

You travel the shortest possible distance between

   Whereever prayers go and

   Whereever I am now.

Christmas is a one-way highway uncurved by my uncaring.

You take the least possible time to arrive, undelayed by

   My delays to love you back.

From me to the me you have in mind for me,

   The path is crooked, zigzagging around obstacles

   I did not intend to be permanent.

The path must meander around

   Hurry and

   Self-preservation and

   Measuring-up and

   Keeping up and

   Success and

   Other boulders too heavy for me to move aside on my own.

Way-Maker, make your path from me to the me you have in mind for me straight.

Act now.

So the me at the far end of the path will have a straighter path ahead than

   The me who is working against yesterday’s short-sightedness.

Way-maker, make your path straight.

Scripture: “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.” (Isaiah 40:1)

Observation: This verse begins the next major section of Isaiah, chapters 40-55. The prophecies in this section refer to the end of the Babylonian exile and the exit of God’s people from three generations of captivity and life as refugees in a foreign land. The prophecy here is a response to the good news being spread far and wide, that by royal decree, the Jews are allowed to leave Babylon and go home to the Promised Land. The news is received as “comfort.” The word in Hebrew is nacham, meaning “to breath heavily, sigh.” For the recipients of this good news, being allowed to return home feels like a sigh of relief. Now the people can be comforted at knowing the worst things are behind them. There’s no more uphill climb from here. The people can breathe in the good news of new opportunities, and breath out the bad news of worst times now complete.

Application: I will receive comfort. I will breathe in the good news of God’s good purposes for me, and I will breathe out the bad news of worst times now complete. Like the rider of a bicycle at the top of a hill, having pedaled non-stop, breathless, tired, worn-out, I can take a moment, a breather, and rest in the comfort of knowing the worst is behind me. It’s all downhill from here. Is there still pedaling left to do? Yes, such is life. Most of life is the pedaling. But now I have an advantage. There is a force working in my favor like gravity. It’s the unrelenting love of God, the love that came down at Christmas. I am comforted at knowing God’s love is breathed out, on me. Now I can pedal into tomorrow, working in cooperation the love pulling me forward.

Prayer:

As a rider on a bicycle stops at the top of the hill,

   Breathless, beaten-up

   Body burning from pedaling uphill through

   The worst of times,

   Having battled the downward pull of heartbreak,

   Fear at what may or may not come,

   Grief – grief constant and gnawing –

I stop.

I place my feet on the ground and breathe.

I breath in your unrelenting love for me.

I breath out the bad news of worst times now complete.

“Comfort,” you say.

I want to be done with what passes for comfort in the chaos of this world:

   The fleeting pleasure of the bright and shiny,

   The comparison of my happiest moments - brief, expensive, and few –

   With the moments I can see only as shown,

   The false security of treasure.

I want the comfort you have in mind, the comfort of knowing

   You provide a next time after every worst time and

   More than enough for every time and

   Your stubborn presence until the end of time.

I breathe out the bad news of worst times now complete.

I breathe in your unrelenting love,

   For it is your love and only your love that fell down from heaven

   And like gravity keeps pulling me onward.

I step back onto the bike, and with you, I go. 

Scripture: And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way. Walk in it” (Isaiah 30:21).

Observation: This prophecy comes from the Babylonian exile. The prophecy is of a “Teacher” (from the previous verse) who will show the exiles “the way”- the way back home, the way to better times, the way to abundant life. The prophet imagines the Teacher standing behind a lost person, who symbolizes all of the exiles together. The lost person stands at a literal fork in the road. He looks right, then left, and doesn’t know which path will take him where he wants to go, probably because he doesn’t know where he wants to end up. It turns out the correct path is located behind him. The lost person can’t see it (that’s why he’s lost!) but the Teacher can see it, symbolizing that a lost person, by definition, does not know which way to go (if they did, then they wouldn’t be lost) and can find the correct way forward only when they listen for the correct voice.

Application: If I knew the right way to go, then I wouldn’t be lost. It’s not my job to know the right way. It’s my job to listen for the right voice. I am lost without a teacher, the Teacher, who is God in Christ Jesus. The Teacher knows the right way to go. It is not mine to know which path leading off the fork in the road to take. It is mine to meet the Teacher. He’ll show the way, because he is the Way.

Prayer:

When I get lost – not if, when – bless me

   With ears to hear the one voice that can call me

   Onward on the way.

I look left, and there is no Teacher.

But there are other voices belonging to other instructors, saying,

   “You are what you win.

   The busier, the better.

   More salary, more security.

   Yes, there is an enough, and no, you are not there yet.”

Teacher, when I look left, bless me

   With ears to hear you, and call me onward.

I look right, and there is no Teacher.

But there are other voices belonging to other instructors, saying,

   “You are no better than the worst thing they say about you.

   Compete, or be outcompeted.

   Abundance is for fairy tales.

   Yes, there is an enough, and no, you are not it.”

Teacher, when I look to the right, bless me

   With ears to hear you, and call me onward.

It is too much for me to know the way to go

   Yet this one unrepeatable life is

   Too brief for me to be lost for too long.

   And so,

Bless me. Bless me with what I am able to receive:

   Not solutions, certainty, or a plan,

   Because a lost person wouldn’t know the right way if they saw it.

Bless me with a calling to clarity about the person I am becoming,

   So I might hear what kind of humankind you have in mind

   When you see me in tomorrow.

Teach me, O Teacher, who to become, and I will imagine

   What sort of choices that person would make,

   And leave the rest to rest.

Teach me, O Teacher, the difference between knowing the way,

   Which is beyond me, and walking the way,

   Which is the only way to know the way.

Lead me to surrender the job of knowing which way to go.

That job belongs to you.

   It is yours to know the way onward.

   It is mine to listen for a voice telling me who I am.

   Teach me the difference.

Bless me with ears to hear the one voice that can call me

   Onward on the way.

Scripture: All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers. (Acts 1:14).

Observation: This is the last mention of Mary, Jesus’s mother, in the Bible. Aside from theories and legends, Mary is lost to history after this, so we can look here for the final stand of Mary of Nazareth. We can tell much about a person by how they make their exit, by how they choose to spend their final days and what sort of legacy they leave. How does Mary spend her final days?

First, she’s praying. The disciples have just returned from Mt. Olivet, where they saw Jesus ascend to heaven, and they’ve entered the upper room, a spare guest room in someone’s house in Jerusalem. There they pray for Jesus to guide them, now that he’s gone in the flesh. Who else is praying with them? Mary, the very first human being to pray for Jesus, the one who has prayed for Jesus since before he was born.

Second, she’s hoping. Only a handful of followers of Jesus remain. Mary could have gone home to Nazareth after Jesus died, but she stayed in Jerusalem, where Jesus told the disciples to stay. Mary believes Jesus really does live on. She has hope. Even after she watched Jesus die, her own son, she keeps alive the hope that Jesus is alive.

Third, she’s leading. She leads her other children, Jesus’s siblings, to stay where Jesus told them to stay. Had Mary left and gone home, her other children would likely have followed. Mary’s leadership isn’t loud or boisterous; she doesn’t make a splash. She leads with where she chooses to put her actions. She chooses to put her prayers, service, guidance, advice, and motherly help with these poor, lost young men.

Application: I want to be Mary-like, for then I will be more Christ-like. As I am to imitate Paul, who imitated Christ, I will imitate Mary. She prays to the son she knew in body and now knows in Spirit. She keeps her relationship with Jesus alive because she keeps working at it. She hopes. She holds onto hope in life after death. Despite the contrary, despite the cross, despite the catastrophe, despite the collision of her dreams with the unstoppable wall of reality, Mary still hopes. She leads. She leads with unarrogant service. We don’t hear what she says, but her actions continue to echo. She leads the lost little group of disciples to their next thing: the living, breathing body of her son.

Prayer:

God of the nobodies, who are the bodies in whom you choose to dwell,

   The undercover Boss,

   The greatest of these wrapped in the least of these,

Hear me out: I want to be like Mary.

I want to be Mary-like.

Then I will be more Christ-like, for Mary’s is the body where your body

   First took shelter,

   First kicked,

   First waved hello,

   First smiled.

And in this nobody, you show me what it means to be

   Somebody.

Mary prays to you, now gone in body,

   Knowing you can still hear her,

   Knowing you do still listen as if you were kneeling on the rug beside her,

   As you two did when you were both young.

She keeps the relationship with you alive.

She does not allow death to widen the distance between her and you.

Her connection with you is uninterrupted.

Her bond with you is the bridge over the

   Icy waters of today,

   A bridge paved, layer by layer, with praying.

God, help me to pray like that.

Mary hopes in you.

She hopes in the boy she raised even though she watched him die.

She hopes life, as fragile as she knows it is, is more durable than death.

She hopes the man she saw hanging is hanging on every word she says and is doing something about it.

Despite the contrary, despite the cross, despite the catastrophe, despite the collision of the wild strength of her dreams with the unstoppable wall of reality – what actually happened – she hopes.

Hers is more than belief. It is resolve.

“My son lives. The world is his unfinished business. I am where he is busy.”

God, help me to hope like that.

Mary leads.

   Without a word,

   unarrogant,

   Opposite of weak,

She leads her son’s misfit movement.

She leads with echoes of her son’s legacy:

   Service, solidarity, sticking with friends, self-emptying,

   Saluting God with a long obedience in love’s direction.

God, help me to lead like that.

Bless me, God of the nobodies, who chooses to be busy

   Through my body,

   That I might leave a Mary-like mark,

   Determined to speak with you,

   Resolved to keep love alive,

   Undeterred in living a quality of self-giving that is itself undeterred by dying.

Scripture: For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with great compassion I will gather you. (Isaiah 54:7).

Observation: Does God really abandon people? Yikes. I don't know if I could bear the thought of God abandoning me. Yet I'm old enough to understand there are "those moments" of pure aloneness, when I have felt truly alone and I could not detect God's presence. Was I abandoned? Or was I allowed the space and time I needed to change? Like bread put in the oven while the baker busies herself with the dishes, so am I with God at times. I am placed in moments of solitude when God knows it's time for me to rise like sourdough. It's not like God gave up on me. Rather, God put me in the womb again, warm and safe, surrounded by God's presence but unseen by me. Yes, "those times" feel alone, but such is the condition of the oven and the womb. The bread doesn't see the baker on the outside, nor does the neonatal child see the mother holding him. God is still present, though unseen, and God is still active, though I'm in the dark.

Application: What I call "utterly abandoned," Isaiah would call "actively growing." I need to remember my episodes of fear and loneliness could be the conditions God is baking with, and I am the dough deposited in the dark. "Those moments" are the right conditions for something raw to become something new.

Prayer: 

Greater, far greater is your love for me than is your frustration in response to me. 

My goodwill is shaky at best. Yours is steadfast since forever.

My patience is thin as a newborn's hair. Yours is longer than the sun is bright.

My hope for tomorrow is short-lived and easily squashed.

But your non-stop expanse into the dark corners of the world can cure

   even my disenchantment,

   if I were to step outside myself.

But what do I do with those moments?

   Lord, you know.

   The moments when I am undone.

   The episodes of pure loneliness.

   The shatter of the soul.

   Lord, you know.

These times I cannot simply forget,

   For the creation does not remember when it was made,

   But cannot forget when it felt unmade.

   Lord, you know.

Was it you? Did you abandon me?

Did you leave me on the doorstep and

   Back away?

You are saying, "The womb of the soul is repeatable,

   A dark, hot, and lonely place,

   When abandon is what you feel,

   But new beginning is what I see."

As the baker puts the bread in the oven,

   And walks away,

   Leaving what is unfinished in a dark, hot, and lonely place,

   So do you place me in conditions where the sourdough of my being

   Can rise.

What comes out will be more prepared for the future than what went in.

You are the Baker of who I am becoming, in the same kitchen

   Where I am happen to be rising,

   Never far from me,

   On the other side of a door shut so I might open to the new I cannot see.

You surround me as a mother surrounds the still-growing infant within her,

   Who cannot see the Love that never left.

Scripture: If it had not been the Lord who was on our side... (Psalm 124:1).

Observation: The psalmist, this time King David, wonders out loud what might have happened to him and his kingdom had the Lord not been with them. The kingdom was under attack, Israel was outmatched, and from David's point of view, it was a matter of time before the enemy swallowed them alive (Psalm 124:2-5). But the Kingdom lives on. David lives on. Everything turned out okay. God made a way through when there was no way out. As if he's engaging in a fun little thought experiment, David proposes a counterfactual: let's imagine what life would have been like, had God not helped us. It's not like God "had to" side with David and his kingdom. God chose to side with them. How much worse would the present be if God had not been so gracious in the past?

Application: Instead of being excited about what is possible with God on my side, I should tremble at the thought of what my life would be if God were not already on my side. God only knows what I would be without God with me. King David is teaching me a vital piece of wisdom. It's gratitude by way of counterfactual. What would my life be without the people and things I assume will always be here? 

Prayer: 

Generous, Open-Handed, Heart-Broken-Open God,

With you there is life,

   Possibility,

   Provision,

   Peace.

Without you, what else is there?

Without you, what else is?

I see only what I allow my mind to see.

You are patient with my predisposition to see

   Scarcity when scarcity is not reality,

   My failures to measure up to standards I alone created,

   The time I lack instead of the people and purposes you have placed before me,

   The darkness flooding the news, when, in fact, the darkness is retreating and the light is winning.

"If it had not been the Lord."

There it is.

Rather than waste my life on keeping alive all that I imagine is wrong,

   Show me how my life might have been,

   Had you not been the One keeping me alive.

"If it had not been the Lord."

   I would not have heard my child whisper, "Good night."

   I would not know the joy of fresh coffee and pumpkin muffins prepared for me by someone who could have chosen someone else.

   I would not know the solidarity of older friends who have faced most of my troubles before.

   I would not have the carpet under my feet.

   I would not have escaped ruin.

   I would not have my needs met and more desires granted than I can count.

You are teaching me the gentle logic of gratitude.

You are leading me to see what life might have been, had there been existence without your goodness.

"If it had not been the Lord."

Lord only knows what I'd be without the gifts I cannot imagine life without.

It makes me afraid.

Yet isn't that where gratitude should lead me, Holy One?

   To a shudder of the spine when I begin to hold in my mind

   What might have been,

   Had ordinary grace missed me and fallen elsewhere?

Scripture: Then he waited another seven days and sent out the dove, and it did not return to him anymore. (Genesis 8:12).

Observation: Noah sends out the dove when it looks like the floodwaters that covered the earth (remember the 40-day flood?) have completely receded. The dove's not returning means the dove has found dry land and food, a sure sign the waters are gone and new life has grown. The one-way trip of the dove is a measure of success. Release is success. Sometimes, letting things go and their never returning is a sign that new life is growing.

Application: I will let things go. I will embrace release as a measure of success. I will send away what would be better off with me, and me better off without it. What does not bring me life or help me bless others with more life, I will release, hoping that it never returns to me. Here again, I will learn to live within my limits - managing what is mine to manage - and release all else, with God's help, into God' hands. 

Prayer: 

Teach me the deep wisdom of sending out

   that which cannot find abundant life

   in my presence

   and, if I were to love it,

   would be blessed

   by not returning to me.

It was you, Author of Creation,

   who drew the limits of my being,

   defining where I begin and end,

   making finite by ability

      to reach and to hold,

      to care for and mend,

      to keep and to protect.

You limit me.

It would be better for me

   and for those depending on me

   if I wisened up. 

Limits are one of the endless ways you say, 

"I love you. Deal with it."

Though I like to leap over them,

   your limits, O Lord, yank me back to the safety

   of what you created me for, 

   and what you created others to do.

May I hold

   my anxieties

   my once-friends, now ghosts,

   my plans shattered,

   my dread of necessary conversations,

   my thoughts of what might happen if the worst happens,

   my dear ones I cannot have forever,

As the dove that, if I loved it, should be sent out with hope it never returns.

Lead me to know when to let go of what

   and who

   would find life on the other side of the limit from where I am.

May I love so much that which I fear so much, 

   that I would sent it out to find abundant life where I cannot go

   but where You already are.