Advent Reality

When I started this blog several months ago upon our transition from Austin to St. Louis, my hope was to write every few weeks or so, not only to keep my writing muscles sharp while I was temporarily away from the pulpit, but also – hopefully – as an encouragement to you.  My hope was that it would add value to anyone who read it.  One of the traps of the calling of a pastor is to think we always need to be adding value, to be useful, to be helpful.  And honestly that’s why I haven’t written in a couple of months.  I just haven’t been in a place where I thought I could add much value to anyone.  And that really hasn’t changed since October 5.

 

That morning we were “gearing up” for a camping trip with friends and I was on my way home from Walmart with some supplies when suddenly – out of no where – the world began spinning around me.  A severe bout of unexplained vertigo. I just barely managed to pull the car over and immediately called Jen and 911.  I couldn’t open my eyes because they were uncontrollably bouncing all over the place and I began sweating profusely and throwing up. 

 

I thought I was dying.  Seriously.  I thought October 5 was going to be the final date on my tombstone.

   

Thankfully, Jen arrived within minutes with the paramedics just behind and they quickly ruled out a heart attack, but rushed me to the emergency room anyway.  The doctors there thought I may be having a stroke and did a battery of tests to rule that out.  Which thankfully they eventually did.  I eventually stabilized and was able to go home with orders to go see an ENT because of their suspicion that I was having some inner ear problem.  Ok, I wasn’t going to die. Not that day anyway. Thank you Lord. 

 

It turns out I have Meniere’s disease, a pretty rare and incurable disease of the inner ear which manifests itself in vertigo, hearing loss and tinnitus – a loud ringing in the ear.  Supposedly the symptoms are somewhat controllable, but up until now I’ve continued to suffer every day with some symptoms and occasionally…and unpredictably…with the bouts of vertigo. The last one happened a few nights ago while I was teaching a class at the seminary, rendering me unable to continue.

 

Meniere’s disease.  I have it.  And that’s a hard blow.

 

Of course, I am fully aware that it could be worse. I’ve largely been blessed with good health and as a pastor I’ve sat with countless people who have it worse.  I understand you all now in ways I couldn’t before and I’m so deeply sorry for you.  But this Meniere’s thing is still a bad deal.  I hate that salt, sugar and caffeine restriction is the way to control the symptoms.  I mean really, what else is there in life?!?  I hate watching my kids watch me suffer.  I hate that I’ve had to cancel appointments when the vertigo has hit.  I hate the feeling that another bout could happen without warning.  I hate saying, “Huh?” all the time in conversation with soft talkers or in a loud room.  And I hate – I mean I really hate – being powerless, needy and having occasional completely wasted, unproductive days.  It’s all very frustrating, very stressful, very depressing. 

 

So I’ve been waiting to write about how God delivered me from this valley.  That’s what we want to hear, right?  Helpful hindsight musings about how we were almost out of hope but then we were delivered or that we learned something profound or some-such thing.  But this week as I’ve wobbled around, I’ve been stuck on the thought that I’m feeling the proper feels – maybe for the first time – of what the Advent season is supposed to feel like.

 

One of the most famous passages we read in the Bible this time of year comes from Isaiah 9 which speaks of the hope we have in the promised Messiah who is coming to our rescue – the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father and Prince of Peace.  We get chills when we hear those words sung in Handel’s Messiah.  It’s positively triumphant.  But that’s not where I am right now.  And I know that’s probably not where many of you are either.  We are, instead, the “people walking in darkness.”  The Isaiah 8 people who are about to be smothered by an invading army.  Who are hanging on, barely.  Who are in the darkness of our own limitations.  In the darkness of loneliness.  In the darkness of abuse.  In the darkness of poverty.  In the darkness of depression.  In the darkness of anxiety.  In the darkness of shame.  In the darkness of dying.  And yes, in the darkness of vertigo.  Confusing, discombobulating, scary, maddening darkness.

 

There’s no Christmas do-si-do around it this year.  And Advent calls us to feel it.  To face it.  To lament it.   It reminds us that we are under a curse.  As Bob Dylan put it, everything is broken.  And I feel it this year especially.  Under a curse.  Under a smothering curse.  And I want it to be over.  I want to get back to being strong.  To feeling good.  To being sharp.  To adding value.  

 

So maybe I am learning something profound after all.  Maybe I’m learning that my value ought not be tied up in my ability to add value.  Maybe I’m learning what Paul said about God’s power being made perfect in weakness.  Maybe I’m learning how to be more understanding (incarnational) of those who have suffered under long, incurable brokenness of all kinds.  And maybe, just maybe, I’m learning to place my hope in the one place it really needs to be. 

 

The picture I’ve posted is of Fredrich Watt’s painting entitled Hope.  A copy of it was given to us by a dear friend for our wedding and it hangs in our living room.  It is said to have inspired Obama’s political theme, “the audacity of hope.”  And that’s what I’m wondering right now in this valley.  Do I have the audacity to hope for something better?  Not just a relief of my symptoms, but a cure – a remedy – a rescue from all the darkness?  For me and for you?  The painting tells me I do.  It pictures a blindfolded, smothered-in-darkness girl sitting on the world playing a lyre with just one string.  Just one.  There isn’t a string of career success or a string of physical beauty and health or an American Dream string or any other kind of string we normally put our hope in and play.  No, there’s just one.  The string of the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father and Prince of Peace who – as the old hymn says – “has come to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found.”  It’s a triumphant string, we’re told.  

 

I believe.  Help my unbelief.

 

Walk with me in this valley, Jesus.  Help me see the others here with me.  Help us not to be afraid.  Give us hope in the midst of the darkness.  Hope in your triumph.  Hope in your love.  And give the joy that you promised to the world.  Now, and in full when you come again.  And come quickly, Lord Jesus.  Maranatha, come quickly.