Advent Hands

Every Advent, I seem to make a pilgrimage through and to the “testaments” — both written and sung that have spoken to me in other times of Advent change.  Those past Advents of being ready for the birth of what is yet to come into the present annual trek through the landscape of malls and miles to the Bethlehem of this moment in time.

In her book, Altar to the World, Barbara Brown Taylor, suggests a way of being present to our lives and aware of the journey that opens my Advent heart to a way of both remembering and releasing — holding the hand of the untraveled hand of birth and the hands of knowing that comes with sitting among the well traveled journey of life.  I invite you to join me in what leads my Advent travels today…

It’s really simple.  An Advent practice — just for today.  With tales to tell and hope to hold.

Using a simple marker and a blank sheet of paper, trace around the outside of your hand.  Now, look at the hand that you traced around and fill in the details — the places that life’s journey has left it’s mark.  Be sure to capture each of the knuckles, the nails, the cuticles and lines of wear.  For the hands of time, record the lines that experience has left, the new arrivals of spots of light and dark, and the appearance of the veins that were once taken for granted in their invisibility.

Remember where your hands have taken you — those they have fed, clothed, served, the messages typed and the experiences that have clenched the fists.  Make the image real — notice the hands that now hold Advent — for they, like the prophetess Anna and Simeon (Luke 21), have been shaped by what they have held and what they hold on to.  

Don’t forget the crevices between the thumb and index finger where legend suggests hope is held in the hollow between the thumb that holds the balance of the hand and the finger that points the way.  Giving some meaning, it has been said, to the journey between going forward and holding back — the balance between the push and pull in the tension of both giving and receiving.  Here, we hold the hope of life in open hands — ready to let go and ready to receive.

Hands of marriage and of birth.  Hands of loss and grief.  Hands that have held and hands that have let go.  Hands that have worked the land and those that have remained idle.  Hands that dare to rise up in anger and also applaud the magnificent performance that opens the heart and stirs the imagination.  Hands that have known light and those that have known the depths of the dark.  Hands that begin with tiny lines of birth and end with hands of letting go.  For these, are the hands of Advent.

For these are Advent hands -- the hands of our lives
The ones that have held us and the ones that wait for us

These are Advent hands -- the hands of our lives
The ones that we open to care for another and the ones we close off in fear

These are the Advent hands -- the hands of our lives
The ones that help us to remember that we each need an innkeeper
to open the door and invite us in

These are Advent hands-- the hands of our lives
The ones that invite us to be that innkeeper
who opens the door and invites

These are Advent hands-- the hands of our lives
The ones that invite the wrinkles and hold the hope
the keepers of the flame of love

Today, we give thanks for the Advent 
hands that have held us
and the invitation to 
hold Emmanuel 
"God With Us"
in our hands
our hearts
our lives