THERE IS NO “I” IN DENIAL.

THERE IS NO “I” IN DENIAL.

The second week of Advent (Sunday)

Isaiah 40:1-11 Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.

Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and proclaim to her

that her hard service has been completed,

that her sin has been paid for,

that she has received from the LORD's hand

double for all her sins.

A voice of one calling:

"In the desert prepare the way for the LORD;

make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God.

Every valley shall be raised up,

every mountain and hill made low;

the rough ground shall become level,

the rugged places a plain.

And the glory of the LORD will be revealed,

and all mankind together will see it.

For the mouth of the LORD has spoken."

The word “comfort” is composed of two syllables, the first com is from Latin cum meaning with, or together. The second fort is also from Latin fortis meaning strong. To comfort, therefore, means to strengthen together. So, when we comfort someone we are not so much trying to make them feel better, as to help them be stronger.

When I was a child in school, for some reason I couldn’t learn to read. By the end of grade one I was a year behind, but when my mother observed that I wasn’t learning she was told not to worry. They said I was a “delightful, intelligent child”, and would be just fine. By the end of grade three I was three years behind, and my mother was told I was “as intelligent as any of the other children", but a late bloomer. (Note, I had become somewhat less delightful.) In grade five I was five years behind, and my mother began to insist that they keep me back a year and teach me to read.

“It’s psychologically damaging to fail a child”, the teachers told her.

“Then let’s stop failing him”, she replied. “Crying every night into his math book because he can’t understand the questions isn’t doing much for his self esteem.”

“We’re sorry Mrs. Colborne”, they insisted, “we can’t hold him back.”

“Then he won’t be going to school in the fall”, she replied.

“That’s against the law, Mrs. Colborne. We'll take you to court.”

“Fine,” she said, “I’ll bring Danny and his math book along, and we’ll explain it to a judge.”

Needless to say, Mama won. They held me back and my life was saved. But being held back is not what saved me. It was a teacher named Mr. Lawlor, who stepped up and said, “I’ll keep him in after school every day and, somehow, we’ll teach him to read.”

I hated Mr. Lawlor every day after school as the other kids left to play baseball and I stayed behind, but he didn’t seem to mind. And I’ve loved him ever since. You see, he wasn’t sentimental. He didn’t spend his time telling my mother and me what he imagined we might want to hear, that everything would be just fine. He loved me with a serious love, a love that took many hours of hard work, a love that made a difference. He comforted me with a comfort that made me stronger. And his love and commitment to me gave me hope.

Isaiah was a comfort to his people because, regardless what he thought they might want to hear, he tenderly told them the truth, that their suffering and failure had mostly to do with them and their sin. But the good news, he insisted, was that they had suffered enough, and God was coming with love and commitment to straighten things out.

To prepare for the coming of Jesus isn’t about imagining we are fit to receive him, but believing that God loves us enough to make us fit; to straighten out our waywardness, knock off the high points, fill in the holes.

In the end, of course, it’s all about hope, which is not just another word for wishing, but for trusting that, if we are faithful, God, who is faithful, will have his way in our lives.

How’s it going this Advent? How is God preparing you?

(This is becoming a Sunday/Wednesday thing, so see you Wednesday.)