Second Sunday of Advent

Second Sunday of Advent
December 7, 2003

What is the hardest part of backpacking?

I used to go backpacking (in my younger, crazier days) - in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. There was always one sight guaranteed to put fear in the heart of even the most experienced hiker- switchbacks. And when you'd look up and see endless series of them - you knew you were in for a rough climb. They meant the trail was too steep to be walked on a direct line - the incline - too much for the human heart and human will. And they were right. Even though you knew it was adding extra miles to the amount of steps you would take - there was no getting around them. So you’d zig-zag back and forth, trying to make the vertical ascent in measured, doable steps. Conversation stops at this point - each breath - critical for the climb...Interaction - minimal - you focus only on the height before you. These are the moments on the trail that you simply endured. You lived for the moment when you could see the trail - in a relatively straight line ahead of you - it meant the grade was easy, -the walking would become bearable - if not pleasant.

In a country and a time when walking was the predominant form of transportation - you can see why the vision of Baruch would have an appeal – God has commanded that every lofty mountain be made low, and that the ago old depths and gorges be filled to level ground. Get rid of the beloved switchbacks. So that the way would be easy. How this vision would make sense to them. "Imagine what it would be like if the walk to Jerusalem was easy. Or the road to Jerico, or to anywhere...." This is what the Lord, the messiah would do. We can't wait. It can't come soon enough.

And when we hear the message of Baruch/John the Baptist - can it appeal to us. What do straight roads mean to us who have the technology to go anywhere in our Isuzu's and grand Cherokees and Explorers? Invite you to see these not just as a metaphor for our faith journey but also as an experience of life that we all go through at times. At times, the peaks ARE so far away. At times the AGE-OLD depths open before us. In the face of those experiences, how do we walk the journey?
I spoke to a parishioner who lost her husband of 53 years to pancreatic cancer. And it is just difficult. There is a great sadness to her days. The valleys are indeed very low. The mountain peaks where even normalcy happens (much less joy) so far in the distance above as to be unmanageable. That is the experience of her days and nights. So I found myself praying with her: “Let the age-old valleys of grief be filled with comfort. Let the promised mountain peaks of joy/normalcy/fullness be made accessible from where she is - here - now.

Or what of the struggle for peace? What of the dream that “we're not gonna study for war no more?” Iraq and Israel and Afghanistan are still places filled with the evil of war and killing and lawlessness. Lord - does it have to be this way? Why does peace seem so elusive? Why does any response I make seem so small and unable to make a difference? May the mountain tops of peace - find a place in my heart. May the despair that robs me of the courage to commit be filled in, that I may do something, no matter how small…

And what about my own family? What valleys need to be filled in there? I have had lots of conversations about people’s experience of family at Thanksgiving this year. And for more than I would have ever thought, family is not a place of welcome for them. It is not a place of home. The chasms are huge and deep; the anger like huge mounds, impossible to climb. May the valleys in our families of loneliness be filled in Lord. May no one find conversations to be as elusive mountaintops – inaccessible and always in the distance.

Mountains and valleys are a part of our experience as we walk the road of life. How do you walk them faithfully? Just as you do mountain switchbacks. One step at a time. One step at a time. “God, I can’t forgive my family members yet. But I can at least take the step of not wishing them ill. Let me rest there, after that step. And then I’ll take the next one tomorrow.” “God, I’m so swamped, I can hardly pray, much less anything else. But I can breathe. So let this breath be my prayer. And tomorrow, I’ll take two breaths. And the day after that, three…” And so it goes. That is how we live in times of struggle – like a person on switchbacks. Doing the doable at the time. Not worrying about the end of the journey, just the next step. Then the one after that. Then the one after that…

And if switchbacks are a major part of your life at this time, may leveled mountains and filled in valleys also be our experience as well. And with God’s help, may we create those roads for our families our world and ourselves. Amen.