It was an unseasonably warm first Sunday of Advent, and we heard an unseasonable reference to the branches of a fig tree becoming tender, putting forth its leaves and giving us a sign that summer is near. (Mark 13) But Jesus wasn’t talking about the seasons; he was guiding the disciples to be aware of the signs of God’s will and plan. Jesus ended his lesson of the fig tree saying, “So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates.”
As I heard these words of Jesus again, I heard a personal reminder to live life expectantly and aware. On the one hand, these words may make us aware that life is limited and sometimes short, and that life for too many can be fraught with difficulty and danger. The awareness can then prompt a deeper appreciation for this and each precious God-given day, or even awaken a desire to cherish and share the goodness and beauty we find daily, or strive to make that goodness possible and real for those who don’t experience the same.
On the other hand, these words may draw our focus to witness more deeply the events and the people around us and recognize the amazing reality and wonder in the breadth of creation and the diversity of humanity. When we attend to these signs of God’s handiwork, I believe we inevitably are motivated to recognize the amazing privilege of life we share. Being so aware of God’s creative hand ought to spark in us a conviction burning brighter every day to care for, speak well of, respect and defend all that God hath made – all creation and all peoples.
Appreciating the signs of God is a discipline of faith which helps us guard against taking it all for granted, or neglecting the goodness, or exploiting what is in reach of thoughtless hands. I hear the words of Jesus and perceive in the signs a spiritual question that applies to all people, “how have we done with this and each precious God-given day?”
Have we given thanks, have we paused in amazement, have we responded to the goodness and beauty of God by sharing the goodness and beauty we are capable of even in the simplicity of a kind word and deed?
This second Sunday of Advent will be seasonably cold now that the snow has arrived. And now I see the signs of God increasing and in fact blanketing our area.
For me, another sign is in each snowflake. This is a lesson my elementary school teachers taught well as we cut out lacy paper snowflakes and admired the uniqueness of each. This second Sunday of Advent the word of God will focus on the comfort faith receives in the steadfast constancy of God’s presence as it is experienced in the temporary, even fleeting events of life. (Isaiah 40) And again snowflakes are a sign for me.
As a teenager, my parents gave me a thin volume, titled The Twelve Seasons by naturalist Joseph Wood Krutch, and the sign that snowflakes can be gained fuller appreciation. “Snow is made tonight to be dissolved into the water again next month or perhaps the next day. And yet each grain, billions upon billions of them, is finished perfectly as one or another of hundreds of different six-pointed stars; as though each, instead of being piled in unnoticed, uncounted heaps had been formed for the careful eye of some connoisseur with a lens.”
What a great way to think of each snowflake, and to my thinking that God is that connoisseur who has made each one in stunning array inviting us to also become connoisseurs of God’s work and to attend to the wonder of it all.
I believe that as we choose to witness the signs of God present all around us, we compellingly come to recognize God’s “inexhaustible ability endlessly to create the beautiful” which Krutch attributed to Nature and which I attribute to nature’s Author. In the process of appreciating the signs, I pray that your Advent reflections will bless you richly and that you will not forget that you also are one of God’s signs of goodness and beauty.
Each month a member of the Cook County Ministerium will offer Spiritual Reflections. This month our contributor is Reverend Mark Ditmanson of Bethlehem Lutheran Church in Grand Marais.
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