Lectio Divina
Advent is about preparing
for God’s arrival. The thing about God, though, is that God often arrives in
ways we do not expect. To prepare for the unexpected means we must make
space—plenty of space. If we are only looking for this, or only looking for
that, we may miss God’s arrival.
As we read our scripture, I’m going to pull out a spiritual tool we used several months ago, called lectio divina, or “divine reading.” Maybe you remember it. Lectio divina is a prayerful way of reading scripture. It is a way of making space for God. It is a way of letting God get the first word in our conversation. Instead of addressing scripture with our own interpretations and analyses, we let scripture address us, asking us questions, challenging us, inviting us.
Lectio divina consists of four basic steps, through which I will guide us. Let me say now at the beginning that this practice is entirely voluntary. I will invite you after each step to share a word or a sentence or two with a neighbor around you, but it’s also fine if you prefer not to do that (or you may not have a neighbor sitting nearby).
We begin first with a prayer. Would you join me? Loving God…help us to set aside our thinking, controlling minds. Open us up to your presence in scripture and in our lives. Amen.
- Now I will read our scripture a first time. Listen for a word that catches your attention, that beckons to you, that makes a special impression on you. Don’t analyze why it draws your attention. Simply abide with it, and let it settle within you. I will leave one minute after the reading for you to identify your word and to sit with it.
[Read scripture. Afterward, wait one minute.]
If you choose, I invite you now to turn to a neighbor (or two, if you happen to be in a clump), and share the word.
2. Now listen as our scripture is read a second time. This time, allow your word to unfold or grow. Notice any images, feelings, or memories that emerge in association with your word. I will leave one minute after the reading before inviting you to share with your neighbor.
[Read scripture. Afterward, wait one minute.]
If you choose, turn to a neighbor (or two, if you happen to be in a clump), and briefly, in one or two sentences, simply name the feelings, images, or memories that emerged.
3. Now listen as our scripture is read for a third and final time. This time, reflect on your word and its unfolding, and consider how God may be speaking through it to you. Is God inviting you to something, calling you, challenging you, asking you a question, declaring something to you? How is God speaking to you through your word? I will leave one minute after the reading before inviting you to share with your neighbor.
[Read scripture. Afterward, wait one minute.]
If you choose, turn to a neighbor (or two, if you happen to be in a clump), and briefly, in one or two sentences, simply name how you sense God’s call through your word.
4. The practice of lectio divina concludes with resting in God’s presence.
I will invite us, then, to pray silently in response to God’s personal call. There is no right or wrong way to pray here. Just be honest with God. Maybe you’ll share your feelings, maybe you’ll ask for help, maybe you’ll express your gratitude…or maybe you have nothing to say. When you’re finished praying, rest in God’s embrace. In one minute, I will say a short blessing to conclude.
Loving God, keep us rooted and grounded in your love, and in your call to us. In Christ: Amen.
“On Them Light Has Shined”
The word that speaks to me most in today’s scripture is “light.” The prophet Isaiah peers into the future, and he sees a light. Not the light of a torch or a bonfire, not the light that people make with their own hands. Humans are not the source of this light. Instead, it comes from beyond. The people who are in darkness suddenly see it. It shines on them.
Hope is a tricky thing. Often when we say, “I hope…,” we have a definite result in mind. “I hope your team wins.” “I hope you get the job.” “I hope more people will come to church.” This kind of hope lends itself to planning and hard work. We do everything in our power to achieve the results that we desire.
But there is another kind of hope. What I would call a biblical hope. Biblical hope cannot see what is coming. As Paul explains, “Hope that is seen is not hope” (Rom 8:24). Biblical hope is not a firm expectation or a calculated plan. It is a trust that waits patiently and pays attention. Biblical hope recognizes that God’s ways are not our ways. It appreciates that salvation might not mean victory on the battlefield or success in the courtroom or negative results from the x-ray.
To make the point as clearly as possible…who in the world, who in their right mind, would have expected a messiah who is crucified? Who could have foreseen that a cross, the emblem of suffering and shame, would be the very place where God triumphs over the forces of sin and death?
Biblical hope does not set parameters on the outcome. It only trusts that God is faithful and does good, and it patiently waits and looks for God’s arrival.
It does not make the light. It watches for it.
Hope Is Not a Plan
The Advent story is filled with characters who watch for the light, who are attentive and open to God’s strange and unexpected ways. There is Mary, of course, who is “much perplexed” by the angel’s visit, yet who nonetheless says, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word” (Luke 1:29, 38). She cannot know all that lies in store for her, yet she is willing. Then there is her cousin, Elizabeth, who feels the future of the world kicking in her womb. She knows it is “just” a child, but she also believes that it is bigger than she can imagine (Luke 1:39-45). Her husband, Zechariah, likewise trusts that God’s light will shine through this child “to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide [their] feet into the way of peace” (Luke 1:79). Then there are the wise men, the ancient astrologers, who look up into the sky and see something that they did not expect and respond with hope, with gifts and a warm welcome. And on the other side of the aisle, there are characters like King Herod, who hears the news and formulates a plan to stay in control (Matt 2:1-18). King Herod has no hope. He only has a plan.
Because the Christmas story is so familiar, it is easy for Advent to become a sort of memorial. We celebrate what is in the past, what is well known. But that first “Advent” was all about an unseen future, what was unknown, unexpected. It was all about “hope”—not the planning, calculating kind, but the unseeing and trusting kind. May it be so for us today. May we relinquish our particular desires and expectations and make room for God’s unexpected work. May we look for God in the darkness and in the bad news and in the neglected corners of our lives. No one expected a king to be born out of wedlock between two teenagers in a stinky stable. No one expected a cross.
But that is where the light shined.
Prayer
O God our hope,You are always coming to us
In strange and unforeseen ways—
Relieve us of our plans,
Our narrow desires and expectations
…
Open our eyes and our hearts
In darkness and in uncertainty
To wait and to watch for and to welcome
What is far different
And far better
Than we can imagine.
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