My wife’s grandmother, Edith battled Alzheimer’s throughout most of the time I had the pleasure of knowing her. As many know, the disease devastates one’s cognition, but it also can tamper with temperament as well. I never found Edith to be irritable, though. She was always sweet, consistently smiled, and was never off-putting even though you had to introduce and reintroduce yourself to her. Indeed, there was much that Edith couldn’t recall, but she was good to remember a small playlist of stories that she cycled on a mental loop and she was happy to share them with you for as long as you’d want to listen:
“My mother-in-law never accepted me…” and on she’d go with one story. “I love to bake bread. It’s the only thing I think I do well these days…” off she’d go with another. “No, but I love kids. There’s nothing I like more than to see a yard full of kids running around. My sister, Louise would always say, ‘Why do you let them do that? They’ll tear up your lawn…” You could almost mime the words that would come next.
Edith went to glory years ago, but for some odd reason she came to mind as I mused about Advent and all it entails. I suppose it’s because another one of her stories fell out of some far away compartment, rolled down the hall of mental files and slipped underneath my cerebral door. I remember her narration of one oft-told tale so well, her voice is almost audible in my ear:
“Nobody neighbors these days. There once was a time when everybody neighbored, but not anymore.” It’s true. Count the number of knocks you get on a monthly basis and I’ll bet it’s under 5. Once upon a time, the knock used to excite us; now it scares us. Why? Well, we don’t really expect it these days. No one just drops in—not without a call or text beforehand. We’ve become averse to the visit, especially the unexpected kind. We’ve become backyard in our behaviors and yet as a people of faith, we follow a front door God who not only knocks, but specializes in the surprise visit.
All of Advent (from the Latin word, adventus, meaning “coming”) is a set up for the unexpected. In fact, a cursory scan of the scriptures will show us that the entire birth narrative of Jesus is built on a series of knocks and the hands of those who either opened the door or didn’t answer. Through it, we learn how much it matters that we’re open and how much we miss when we’re closed. As we enter Advent, understand this: We’re called to be a “come and see” people, but that posture is difficult to assume with a “do not disturb” mentality.
Good ol’ Edith told the same tales as if she were telling them for the first time. For all those of us foolish enough to assume we’ve got the knock on the Good News of Christmas, we might be better served to receive the same old stories, but with expectant ears…as if we’re hearing them for the first time. Maybe we should dust off the door mat, flip on the porch light and leave room in our lives. When we’re open to the visit, we won’t be surprised by the knock. Perhaps we’ll discover, in time, that the Good News neighbors more often than we think.
Let every heart prepare Him room…
