The Good News

"The good news is always beginning somewhere in the world, for those with ears to hear and hearts to go wherever the way may lead. -Barbara Brown Taylor

Perhaps, like me, you sometimes find yourself completely overwhelmed by the constant press of global and local events which seem to hold no hope of resolution. All except the most ardent optimists must, occasionally at least, feel a sense of hopelessness and despair about this tired old world, upon reading the morning newspaper or listening to or watching the morning newscast. Lately, I have found it difficult to do either. Too much bad news.

I suppose that is why I was so taken by the character Theo’s motto in Ian McEwan’s great post-9/11 novel, Saturday: "think small":

"When we go on about the big things, the political situation, global warming, world poverty, it all looks really terrible, with nothing getting better, nothing to look forward to. But when I think small, closer in--you know, a girl I’ve just met, or this song we’re going to do with Chas, or snowboarding next month, then it looks great. So this is going to be my motto--think small."

I’ve thought about this idea a lot in recent days, and have decided to make this my Advent season mantra. Think small.

Advent, as Harvard preacher Peter Gomes has pointed out, is not only a time of watchfulness and waiting for the joy of Christmas. Rather, in the Christian tradition, Advent is also a grim time of judgment and of contemplation on the shortness and seeming futility of human life.

Paradoxically, though, it is sometimes at the moment of lowest and greatest despair that we find renewal, or at least the promise of renewal. Advent, according to Peter, is such a time. By offering a glimpse of what one anticipates--a final and ultimate expression of peace and justice and mercy--what he wonderfully calls the "anticipation of the inexperienced"--Advent takes people from where they are--this seemingly intractable world--and moves them toward where they want to be. From the wasteland, we are beckoned onward toward the promised land; from despair, we are directed back toward hope.

As Peter puts it so eloquently,

. . . the Advent hope reminds us that it takes courage to hope in spite of circumstances, courage to persevere beyond the apparent and the convenient, courage not to be satisfied or dissuaded with our circumstances, not to take for granted who we are, or where we are, or what we do. There must be amongst us all a divine discontent, a constant irritant that can never be satisfied until we are where we are meant to be, and this is not that place.

Indeed, as the days grow shorter and darker, the light often does seem to shine brighter. "In a dark time," wrote poet Theodore Roethke, "the eye begins to see." This must be our hope. Sometimes we need to be shaken to the bone in order to appreciate who we are and what we have. To notice, in Barbara Brown Taylor’s words, "the good news [that] is always beginning somewhere in the world."

Taylor, of course, is a Christian, an Episcopal priest, in fact, so we might expect such a message coming from her. "Good news," we remember, is the literal translation of the word "gospel." But Taylor isn’t thinking only, or even mostly, about the Christian gospel, I think. Rather, I believe she is talking about the kinds of things we begin to notice when we allow ourselves to think small.

It is so easy to fail to notice the small things which constitute the good news of our lives. They are so often drowned out and obscured by the big things over which we have little or no control. The war in Iraq, global warming, the threat of terrorism, genocide in Africa, economic insecurity: of course, these things are important. We can’t simply turn our backs. We must take notice and we must act whenever and wherever we can. But we mustn’t let these huge things overwhelm the many smaller things which ultimately make our lives worth living and which allow us to look forward toward the future with hope.

My colleague Elizabeth Alciade has written,

. . . the more we allow for noticing an exquisitely-wrought snowflake new-fallen on our winter coat, for listening to a child, for holding the hand of one who is afraid, for hearing the sounds of silence, for sharing a simple meal with a lonely neighbor--the more Christmas will come for us.

Right here in our own community, good things are happening every day. People are working to improve the lives of others by providing meals and other forms of assistance, caring for the sick and downhearted, speaking words of hope, teaching our young, standing up for justice and peace in a world which is too often unjust and violent, trying to keep our environment clean, living quiet lives in which love prevails and where people are understood to be more important than any possession, helping to make this world a better place.

If we can allow ourselves to think small enough, this is the good news that we will begin to notice. We may not be able to save the world all at once, as we might wish to do. But by doing our small part we can make a difference, we can make a start. The longest journey, someone has wisely said, begins with the first small step.

The good news is already coming to light, small steps already being taken. Right here in our own congregation, I see the signs: Becky Dill’s dedication to stirring us to action on behalf of the people of Darfur; the Amnesty International group which has begun to meet here in our meeting house; our Welcoming Congregation Committee’s commitment to reaching out to youth in our local community who may be questioning their sexual orientation; the meals we help to provide at the Salvation Army’s Friendship Table; the people in our own congregation who dedicate their Sunday mornings to the religious education of our children and youth; the financial assistance this church is able to provide to young people who have had a parent die, and to folks who are struggling just to make ends meet; the Vision Committee’s work to help us envision a fairer future. And so much more. "The good news is always beginning somewhere in the world, for those with ears to hear and hearts to go wherever the way may lead," wrote Barbara Brown Taylor. And so it is.

The Unitarian Universalist minister John A. Taylor once wrote,

If there were no Advent we would need to invent it. We human creatures, in spite of all that has happened to us and been done by us, are still hopeful. Something new, something vital, something promising is always coming, and we are always expecting. Thus in Advent candles are lighted to mark the time of preparation, and with each new light our anticipation grows--as it should. We are, after all, a hopeful people, and that hopefulness deserves a festival.

Advent is a time of anticipation and as long as we expect, as long as we hope, someone will light a candle against the prevailing darkness-- and neither the winds of hate nor the gales of evil will extinguish it.

My Advent wish for all of you is that you will keep your ears open to hear whatever good news is presently emerging, and that you will have the heart to follow it wherever the way may lead. May you discover some of the joy and peace of this season, but most especially may you find that hope which will carry you through "the many causes for despair that this world inevitably brings to us all."[Paul Carnes] May it be so, now and in the days to come. Amen.

The Rev. Harold E. Babcock