ARTICLES
Q TALKS
DISCOVER Q
EVENTS
All Q Events
Q Nashville 2014
Q Session | Innovate
Q Cast
RESOURCES
Books
Studies
Bible
Church Leaders
Speaking
PARTICIPATE
Praxis Accelerator
Host Conversations
Church
Business
Education
Social Sector
Arts + Entertainment
Science + Tech
Government
Media
Cities
Gospel
Restorers
Tweet
Church
Why Advent Is Not "Business As Usual"
by
Dean Miller
The fox was on me before I knew it. Which got me thinking about Advent.
I live within seven miles as the crow flies from our nation’s capital, inside what is pointedly called “the Beltway.” You cannot go far from either my office or home without finding long lines of traffic on roads designed centuries ago for the carriage and buggy, yet that are now home to Highlanders, Expeditions, and Cherokees, not to mention buses and even the Metro line. Within one mile of our home are, not one, but two signposts of civilization, the green and white welcoming lady of Starbucks.
And yet over the past few years on early morning walks or runs I find myself swarmed by unexpected, surprising markers of creation. I’ve been buzzed twice by a very large barnyard owl; same owl, two different but adjacent streets. On my way to work, I keep driving past deer that calmly stroll through a large cemetery eating grass, not a care in the world for the cars whizzing by. These deer must be a distant cousin of the eight-point buck that wanders the small forest area near our offices, an area within a stone’s throw of two of the busiest highways in the country.
As great as these encounters have been, my favorite critters have become the menagerie of foxes in our neighborhood. I’ve seen them in early morning fog on the playfields of both elementary schools my kids attend. I’ve had them eyeball me across a sunlit front yard a couple streets over. And of late I’ve stumbled out our front door to run, half-asleep, only to have one coming up the street, about to kiss the back bumper of our car. (Which explains why all the bunnies I used to see are nowhere to be seen now).
Deers and bunnies are not that astounding. But the owl is unique (and a bit scary, both times). And the foxes seem so … wild. Out of place. Separate from our suburban lawns and lattes. Thankfully, I have always seen them at a distance and disadvantage; when we notice each other I’m bigger, and they go the other direction.
Until a weekend last Advent. I was out early to pray and walk in the dark, going over the sermon I was due to preach the following day. I was a couple miles deep into Northern Virginia suburbia, walking in the middle of the road because it’s flatter there for my bad feet, lost in thought until I glanced up and saw what looked like a large cat racing down the sidewalk. It was coming hard and fast, like something bigger was chasing it. And it was coming at me only about 10-15 feet away and closing with speed.
I only had about a second to:
Note it was not a cat, but a fox
Note that it was a much bigger fox than I’d seen near our house a few miles away, and that this one had a black tail, not a white one
Yell a few choice words
Track it going around me and down a wooded area next to the highway
My friend and I were with each other a very short time, but I continue to think about his coming and going. And as we are in Advent right now it has served as a good reminder of what it really is like for God to incarnate himself into our world.
It’s not new to point out how easy it is for us to be domesticated by the bustle and industry that is built up around Christmas, to assume that things here are understood, under control, expected. But we need annual reminders to be shaken up. And the reality is my four-footed friend is a better eye-opener of what the Incarnation is than any mall St. Nicholas.
For the truth of Advent is that Jesus is bursting, exploding, irrupting into our world. It’s a crazy time: barren women giving birth, virgins conceiving, angels on high. It’s the beginning of a new Kingdom. You know it’s overwhelming because the angels keep saying ‘Don’t be afraid’ to everyone they meet. It’s not dogs by the fire or hot chocolate after a snow day, but swooping owls and foxes racing at you down the road you thought you knew.
In her book
Teaching a Stone to Talk,
Pulitzer winner Annie Dillard writes “It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews.” This is the real image of Jesus, this is what a baby born in Bethlehem means for us.
When we “keep Advent” rightly our role in the retelling of the Christmas narrative is much like the shepherd’s response. We are immersed in our vocations and our daily comings and goings (Christmas was, after all, a normal day at work for the shepherds), but then we allow this news to impact our schedules and lives. We don’t keep going business-as-usual, but we make time not only to go and see the baby but to tell others about him. The good news, as the angel said, is not just for us, but for the whole world.
Taking for granted that it’s a bit oxymoronic to plan for an interruption, how do we allow this good news to impact us in such a way that it brings more common good? Consider, perhaps, how to “put something on” or “take something off.” What’s a discipline you could take on, or something you could stop doing? You could:
Fast a day or meal a week, setting that time aside to pray for your co-workers, your neighbors, your family.
Take a prayer walk through the neighborhood you live or work in, be it rural or urban, or pray for people you see on the subway or metro.
Read
Advent and Christmas Wisdom from G. K. Chesterton
by Thom Satterlee. This series of daily reflections ends with practical steps to allow the good news to impact your schedule.
Create an evening liturgy for your home; for yourself, for you and your roommates, for you and your spouse and kids, etc. We try to mix it up, but at a minimum our family’s daily Advent liturgy includes lighting candles, reading some portion of the Bible (we are using the Chesterton book this year), and praying for others—all in anticipation of Christmas Day. You could also use the Evening Prayer or Compline liturgies in the Book of Common Prayer, which can be found online. Invite people to join you.
I’m grateful the shepherds allowed the news from the angel to impact their schedules. What if they hadn’t?
And I’m grateful for any reminder, black or white-tailed, that shakes up my world, reminding me that this is an adrenaline-filled truth; a season to shout, share, and sing of good tidings for all the world.
Dean Miller is a husband, father and graduate of Regent College in Vancouver, B.C. He is the Director of Spiritual Formation at The Falls Church Anglican and the curator of the
http://tfcagrow.org website.
Editor’s note: Image by
Rob Lee
Tweet
Comments
ALSO IN CHURCH
What Role Should the Bible Have in Society?
by Tim Keller and Alister McGrath and Brian McLaren
Unique Challenges Facing Urban Church Planters
by J. Allen Thompson
Can "Church" Happen Online?
by Jonathan Merritt