The time that has been given to us

In our readings from the first Sunday of Advent, Jesus tells us that the Son of Man will come in a cloud with power and glory.

“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars,” Jesus says, “and on earth nations will be in dismay.” People will die of fright.

Good Lord. When will this happen? Will I be alive?

Advent calls us to prepare for the first coming of Christ, a child born into poverty and powerlessness. We wrap our hearts around this gift of God’s very self. “God so loved the world” that he was willing to share in our trials.

But immediately, our church reminds us that it’s not over yet. We are called to move forward, to live like Christ, to be prepared again for him.

“Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from carousing and drunkenness and the anxieties of daily life,” Jesus says, “and that day catch you by surprise like a trap.”

That phrase “the anxieties of daily life” touches me. I think Jesus understands us, and the human condition, very well. We worry. I worry. Even that reading induces anxiety.

Some worry about the basics, like the cost of food and prescriptions. Some worry about illness, or success or the day’s “to do” list. We worry about our kids, whether they’re eight or 38.

The news brings anxiety. We worry about the thousands of migrants being treated with cruelty. We worry about health care and whether our nation will ever have a health care system fair to all. We worry about war.

In J.R.R. Tolkien’s classic, “The Fellowship of the Ring,” this oft-repeated exchange occurs:

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.

“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

What to do with the time that is given us. In Scripture, Jesus repeatedly tells us not to be afraid, not to worry. And yet often, our time is tainted by worry. A priest friend told me once, “Anxiety is a lack of trust.” I chafed at this. No, I’m just an anxious person. But, unless we have an anxiety condition warranting medical care, worry and anxiety are often decisions.

Recently, I travelled to Spain. It was fun and companionship, but also a pilgrimage. We visited Manresa, where St. Ignatius of Loyola had his great revelation at the Cardener River.

But we first journeyed to Montserrat, the stunningly beautiful mountain monastery where Ignatius laid his sword down before the statue of the Black Madonna. We had the opportunity to walk before the Madonna and “lay down” whatever we chose to leave with her.

I had my little litany of requests of the Madonna, of course. And anxiety was among them.
I wanted a “cure.” But anxiety didn’t disappear overnight, to my disappointment.

But maybe I wasn’t there to be “cured.” The Madonna hadn’t asked Ignatius for his sword; he freely laid it down.

Maybe I was being challenged to lay down my anxiety. Maybe that is my Advent challenge.

What do I choose to do with the time given me? Worry prevents me from using my precious time freely and constructively. Anxiety inhibits my boldness.

Advent is calling me to make a daily decision against anxiety, and to use each day as a precious gift of time meant to be spent in joy, letting God love me and telling me not to fear.

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