A Place of Simplicity

The scripture reading for the third Sunday in Advent finds us with Mary in the tiny agricultural village of Nazareth where an angel comes to her to announce her pregnancy by the Holy Spirit. Archeologists suggest that Nazareth was an out-of-the-way cluster of around 50 houses on about four acres of land.. As Bart Ehrman comments, “No wonder this place is never mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, Josephus, or the Talmud.   It was far too small, poor, and insignificant.  Most people had never heard of it and those who had heard didn’t care.”

It’s amazing really… the simplicity of Nazareth, and the simplicity of a young girl who would become the mother of a man who would become many different things to many different people, but whose story would change the course of history and whose spirituality and theology would change the course of religion.

So, we have a place of simplicity combined with today’s theme of joy and it takes us naturally to contemplate how we might seek joy in simplicity – in the simplest moments, the simplest gifts.

Consider the simple joys in your life – the first cup of coffee, the hug of a child, the sunset, this amazing world we live on, red boots, Christmas cookies, music, time with friends, and so much more.

Robert Fulghum shares this story about “amateur joy.”

"The winter of '03. I remember. The Rockettes came to town at Christmastide — a road show version of New York's Radio City Music Hall spectacular, featuring the long-legged lovelies who dance in unison, kick high, and strut around to big band music. The hot ticket for Christmas. 'You just gotta go!'

"Spectacular is the operative word. And even more extravaganza was available that winter — a Big samurai movie, and a Big sailing-ship-battle movie, and another Big round of the Lord of the Rings, and the Big college football games, and the Big TV superspecial phantasmagorias.

"All spectacular. All big, Big, BIG!

"But somehow, hyperstimulation was not what I wanted for Christmas.

"Some low-key joy would do. Amateur joy.

"And that would explain why on a Saturday night in December when I could have seen the Rockettes or gone to the symphony or watched explosions on a Big screen, I was somewhere else:

"In a small Lutheran church in my neighborhood, listening to a choir of dedicated amateurs sing their hearts out. At the intermission there were home-baked cookies provided by the ladies of the church. And I bought a raffle ticket on a handmade Christmas quilt. The proceeds would be given to the needy in the neighborhood.

"Then we returned to the sanctuary to hear a reading of Dylan Thomas' account of 'A Child's Christmas in Wales.' Finally, the audience joined the choir in singing carols, ending with 'Silent Night.' Off-key, but sincere.

"Unspectacular. No glitz, no glamour, no extravagance. No Big deal.

"Walking home in the rain, I realized this was not a Lutheran deal or even a Christian one. It was about the universal Companionship of Amateurs of any faith or culture, struggling like me to feel at home in the winter's dark, and awed to be part of the Mystery of It All.

"I wasn't excited when I went to bed. Just contented with getting what I wanted most so early in the holiday season: the company of people like me who find in themselves in the middle of winter a capacity for joy — small and deep and ordinary.

"Amateur joy."

Amateur joy, it seems to me, is the best kind of joy because it is heartfelt, sincere, genuine. It touches us deep down, so it isn’t just superficial joy. It sustains us through deep winter days and nights, it brings us hope when we feel like we’ve run out.

Sadly, we miss many of the simple joys because we’re too distracted, we’re not paying attention. Or maybe we think joy should be reserved for big occasions – weddings, birthdays, holidays, parties.

I also think many of us seasoned adults have become somewhat suspicious of joy. Cynical maybe because we pay attention to the news, we know how bad it is in the world. We listen to our friends talk about their health problems, and our kids who can’t find affordable housing and living wage jobs, and the neighbor who just lost their husband and had to put their dog down, and… and… and…

What’s the point in getting all caught up in joy when we have reality to contend with? What good is joy when we’re waiting for the proverbial other shoe to fall? Or if we’re grieving we feel like joy might be a betrayal of the person who’s died. Sure, we’ll offer up a smile or a chuckle, but when was the last time you really let yourself go with joy? When was the last time you had a good belly laugh, laughed so hard you cried and to heck with all the pain for a few seconds.

My last time was on Thanksgiving. My daughter and I were finishing off the mashed potatoes and I went  to take the beaters out of the mixer and I pushed the wrong button and turned it back on instead of popping them off. In the two seconds I had it on, the potatoes flew all over Bryn and me and the wall and cabinets and floor. We just looked at each other and busted out laughing. And it felt so good!

Amateur joy. Simple, beautiful joy.

Rebecca Parker co-wrote a book called Proverbs of Ashes. She was a pastor who had lost a pregnancy and then her husband left her, and was struggling greatly with depression and wanting to live. One night in early spring she came to the end of her will to live. Her house was on a hill above a lake, it was after midnight and she decided she would walk down to the lake and just keep going, planning to let the cold water of the lake take her. But as she drew closer to the lake, she discovered that the Seattle Astronomy Club had set up a whole line of telescopes right in her path. Before she could wind her way through them one of the amateur astronomers, who presumed she was part of the group, called her over enthusiastically, “Come look, I’ve got it focused perfectly on Jupiter.” Not wanting to be rude or give herself away as an outsider, she went over to look and there was Jupiter, red banded and glowing.

“Isn’t it great?” he said. “And it was great,” she wrote, “Jupiter was absolutely beautiful through the telescope. Across the dark water the lights of the city shimmered. Over head, the sky was wild with pinpoints of fire.” Suddenly, she realized she couldn’t kill herself in the presence of these people who had gotten up in the middle of a cold night, with their home-built Radio Shack telescopes, to look at the planets and stars.

She explained, “It would be wrong to think of this moment as one in which joy triumphed over despair, or love of life defeated desire for death. Such a view assumes that bad feelings need to be excised, or suppressed by stronger, better feelings… Rather, I became able to feel more. My feelings broadened. Pain, sadness, and despair were not eliminated or overcome. I embraced them within a larger heart.“

Joy is expansive. It opens us up so our sadness and struggles take up less room. May we work on letting those simple little things into our hearts and souls to broaden our ability to hold everything we’re going through, bring us contentment, fill us with a deep peace and joy.

Advent blessings,

Kaye