Earlier this week, I was at the door of the student center at Holy Cross, waiting for some bank executives to arrive for a signing ceremony inside. My task was simply to offer an initial welcome and guide them to the room where the ceremony would occur. A public safety officer was stationed nearby, ready to move aside the barricades that were reserving spaces in the parking lot for the visiting dignitaries. After the first car arrived, I greeted its occupants, escorted them upstairs, and came back outside. I stood there for a few moments, watching the turbulent clouds presaging a chilly drizzle, my mind's contours similarly shaped by the movement of random thoughts. Then, suddenly, this thought occurred to me: go and talk to the public safety officer. So I crossed over into the parking lot, introduced myself, and we struck up a conversation. As I recall, we talked about our work, Thanksgiving, the incoming president of Holy Cross, and the weather. Nothing particularly intense or weighty... just shooting the breeze amid quickening winds and a bit of rain until the rest of the bank people arrived.
Also this week, I've shared some conversations with friends who are struggling to find love, peace, and acceptance in their lives. As a result of various circumstances, they each tend to see more darkness than light in themselves, and experience more anxiety and fear than confidence and hope. Looking back on the difficult periods in my previous assignment as a middle school teacher, I recall stretches of days or even weeks when I saw my failures and shortcomings all too easily, and despaired of ever being successful in my work or accepted among my colleagues. I feel that I too can relate, though perhaps not perfectly, to my friends' troubling and painful experiences of feeling isolated, rejected, and adversely judged. Although it comes naturally to me to listen, whether the words and stories are light or heavy, pleasant or painful, it does not come so naturally to freely and deeply share my own tales. Yet, despite my long-standing pattern of being terribly slow and reluctant to reveal my struggles, and the thoughts and feelings associated with them, I am increasingly aware that I have a strong and genuine desire to do so.
The readings from Isaiah in these opening days of Advent are filled with hopeful prophecies about God's presence, the restoration of God's people, and a new age of harmony and peace. Yet they were originally addressed to, and received by, a people still awaiting deliverance from war, exile, and even internal strife. Based on my own experiences of waiting, such a state is more comfortable and less fearful when shared. Did my conversation with the public safety officer dramatically improve his day or mine? I cannot say for sure, but I felt a little happier, a little more whole, for having passed some waiting time in his company, and shared the grace of getting to know one another rather than remaining strangers. Will the friends whom I've been accompanying in their struggles ever meet one another? I doubt it, yet I believe that in alluding to the fact that I'm in contact with others facing similar issues, I can offer them some assurance that they are not the only ones walking these challenging and arduous paths. No less importantly, I'm recognizing that I need not remain alone in my waiting, nor in my desires for a deeper foundation in community, confidence, and faith. God's desire and choice to dwell within and among us, sharing the full breadth of the human experience, is a gift offered to each of us individually, yet in receiving and nurturing this blessing, we share its impacts with the surrounding community. And in drawing together our individual flickerings of light and hope, however feeble they may be, we begin to glow together with anticipation for the arrival of Christ, the light of the world.
Rose window, National Cathedral, Washington DC
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