Here at Bonnevaux – in the Northern hemisphere – Advent begins in the Fall. Christmas arrives in the dead and dark of winter when the sun, though imperceptibly, is reborn at the solstice. The wheel turns again. The end of the Christian year – and like all ends it is also a beginning – happens while most trees are silently losing their glory, shedding their leaves. They fall one by one, like shooting stars or dying souls. The magical palette of Autumn fades into the dark silhouettes of bare trees outlined against the sky: the art of nature at its most minimalist. On the ground the leaves are everywhere, blown around by the wind or slowly decomposing in what’s left of the warmth of the sun. The cats love curling up in them.
Then the most un-contemplative aspect of all this, Jean-Christophe arrives with his mechanical leaf-blower. Making horrendous noise (but saving a lot of time and effort), he blows them into geometrical patterns on the grass so that he can gather them more easily for disposal. I thought of this when I read the first reading of today’s mass
We have all withered like leaves
and our sins blew us away like the wind.
The reading from Isaiah may sound over-negative to the untrained ear, full of straying and hardened hearts, divine anger, rebellion and uncleanliness. However, we don’t read scripture merely to be consoled; but to allow the razor of the Word of God to slice through our mental games and arrogance. And to diagnose us. The Word of God reads us even if we think in our pride that it is only we who are reading. If we can feel this, reading because we are read, knowing because we are known, what a relief! It makes us feel better just to get a proper diagnosis; one that we can trust and that makes sense of all the symptoms we are feeling.
If we can deeply feel this interaction with the Word, we will read it more insightfully and be better enlightened by it. It is also easier to interpret – for example to see ‘God’s anger’ symbolically. God cannot be ‘angry’. But the karma, the inevitable consequences of our own misdeeds can indeed feel like someone’s anger directed at us personally. The ecological crisis, for example, is the result of collective sin – impersonal ‘punishment’ for greed and the desecration of nature.
Reading scripture in this way, sometimes means we have to reverse the role-play described in the text: for example, Isaiah says to God ‘you hid your face from us and gave us up to the power of our sins’. This means that we hid our face from God. In seeing this, the sweet mercy of the Word brings us balm: “we the clay, you the potter, we are all the work of your hand.” Can you feel the sense of being restored to normality in those words?
The gospel today, at the beginning of Advent, reinforces this with great economy. It has two messages to guide us into a good season of preparation for the festival of the Incarnation: 1. ‘you don’t know’ and 2. ‘stay awake’. Staying awake in a condition of unknowing. That is how we prepare to recognise and receive what is coming towards us at the speed of light. This speed means that what is coming towards us is here already.
Laurence Freeman OSB