I have never been good at letting other people see my flaws. I know I am not alone. Few of us would jump at the chance to share openly what it is about us that needs to be smoothed over a bit. It is certainly a condition that afflicts nearly all of us. We know that we are not perfect, but it makes us cringe to talk about the ways in which we fall short. Perhaps our flaws can seem lessened somehow if we can pretend that no one else notices them. Or maybe they seem more manageable if we can keep them under wraps for a while or try to prevent them from being highlighted.
Being married has illumined this reality greatly. Before Jeremy, my quirks were mostly hidden, but now he has come to know all of my blemishes and shortcomings better than anyone else. He knows that I am difficult when I am tired and that I love to interrupt his stories. He knows that I can’t stand to have our house seen when it is messy because I hate the thought of someone knowing how long I wait to sweep up the dancing dust bunnies on my stairs. It feels too vulnerable.
I suspect that for a lot of us, there are just a few people in our lives who know firsthand the things about us that are less than ideal. And for those of us who have committed to the challenging task of finding God in a church, we know something about the flaws of those we promised to love when we joined this church. We know when one of us has trouble thinking big, or that another of us is perpetually late. We know when another can barely use e-mail or when one of us talks too much. We know when one of us tends to flake out on occasion and when another tends to speak before she thinks. And whether our true selves are known by a spouse, a dear friend or another member of the church, we know enough about each other to know that not one of us perfect.
But even if we know this, even if we know that there is not one flawless heart among us, it is only those who are closest to us- those who have seen us fall apart or have walked with us when we were angrier than we should have been or told us openly when we have messed up and failed to see the truth for ourselves- it is only those who have seen these imperfections who can truly know us. Even when it hurts to see ourselves reflected back to us in those who serve as a mirror, it seems that this vulnerability is something like a gift. When our imperfections are right out there and seen by another committee member or pointed out by a spouse, we can experience what it feels like to truly be known- to have our faults out in the open, our flaws uncovered, our failings revealed and to be loved anyway.
I suppose this is God’s primary work, loving us with our foibles and failings revealed, loving us when we have let ourselves down, loving us when we seem to be hopeless, loving us blemishes and all. And we have gone to great lengths here in our church to communicate to each and every person who finds his or her way through our doors, that God welcomes each of us just as we are, right where we are. But that is not the end of the story. Indeed God welcomes us just as we are, but the hard part comes when we are introduced to our God who loves us just as we are, but loves us too much to let us stay that way.
That is exactly the bind in which we find ourselves as Christians in this holy season of Advent. God loves us just as we are, but God loves us too much to let us stay where are. God loves us too much not to invite us to grow beyond ourselves. Maybe that is what John was trying to get across when he found himself preaching in the desert.
The Gospel of Luke today introduces us again to Jesus’ crazy cousin John. We know that he is unpredictable and certainly not the kind of guy you would want your impressionable young son to spend much time with. We meet him before Jesus is born and he spends most of his time in the wilderness eating bugs and honey and who knows what else. The Gospel tells us that John is going about his business, traveling around and shouting at anyone who would listen, “Repent!” And in Greek, the language of our New Testament, the word is metanoia, which is literally, to change one's mind, to embrace the possibilities beyond ones’ present limitations or thought patterns. According to analytical psychologist, Carl Jung, metanoia is a process of reforming the psyche as a form of self-healing. Repentence, then, or metanoia is something like an invitation to make way for God’s Spirit to enter into the deepest places, the most flawed parts of who we are.
I guess it is no accident that after John is finished shouting metanoia, shouting to whoever would hear, “Change your mind!” He sings out the words from the prophet Isaiah, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” Few people would have the guts to say the kinds of things we hear from John and maybe that is why God chose him to be the person to offer us such a message. He is basically saying, “God loves you, so get your act together! God loves you, so get ready to be changed. Get things ready for the One who is coming. Prepare the way of the Lord!”
John’s words tell us that if we want God to break into our lives, we have to prepare. We have to tidy up and be ready to have our rough places smoothed over. And as we prepare of the light of Christ to come into the darkness, as we prepare to welcome God in the flesh again, as we prepare for our Immanuel, “God with us,” I wonder what we are doing to get ready? If Advent is our time of waiting for God to break through, what are we doing to make that easier? What are we doing in each day to prepare the way for God to work in us? What are we doing in our hearts, when we are alone with God, to prepare our rough places to be smoothed over?
Advent is indeed the season for reordering the things that have been out of place, according to the Gospel of Luke, this time is about getting a perspective on who we really are, getting to shine the light in the darkest corners of our soul. As God comes into view, as we wait and be still with the presence of the Holy One, I wonder what we might offer to God. God welcomes each of us just as we are, right where we are. But that is not the end of the story. Indeed God welcomes us just as we are, but God loves us too much to let us stay that way. God’s primary work is loving us with our foibles and failings revealed, loving us when we have let ourselves down, loving us when we seem to be hopeless, loving us flaws and all. But God also knows us well enough to know that the only way we human beings will ever grow, the only way we will ever repent or turn around or change our mind, the only way we ever move, is to know that even if our attempts fail, we can fall back on the One who never fails us.
That is just who God is- the One who loves enough to turn even our blemishes into blossoms. If it is hard for us to hear Jesus’ cousin John crying out to us in the wilderness, if it is hard for us to see this holy season as a time for repentance, perhaps we can hear his words as an invitation- an invitation to be vulnerable with God. John says, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” May we prepare the way of the Lord, the way of the One who loves us just as we are, but loves us too much to let us stay that way. Amen.