The prayer traditionally read this week begins “Stir up your power, O Lord.” It’s a real rousing beginning, and one that, for me, conjures up the idea of a coming storm. I think of too-warm weather, a sepia colored world, wind that slowly keeps rising, and a general feeling of tension in everything as creation waits for the clouds to break and the rain to pour down, drenching everything and everyone in its wake.
I must admit my thought of hard rain and the relief that comes when the gathering storm finally gives way provides a window into my own spiritual life. I had hopes that this season of Advent would be a time when my parched soul might find an end to its long drought. Maybe it’s just that in these weeks when the message of God’s love plays from every store PA system and non-stop-til-Christmas on the radio I thought that the withering and weak spirit within me might at last be stirred up and I could feel, again, the wonder that is a relationship with Christ.
However, with two weeks behind, I have yet to feel even a twinge of life from beneath my breast, much less a sense of being stirred up. And rather than rain that cures the dry, cracked ground, I find myself confronted by night after night of cold, clear stars: stars which, even though they are fire, are too far away to kindle anything within me.
I shouldn’t, I suppose, be surprised at this. God really isn’t one for getting stirred up. When people begged and hoped for a great champion to throw off the Roman yoke, they got a child who grew up to talk about love and peace. And as I look west for a sign of clouds growing and billowing on the horizon, there are only soft sunsets that give way to clear, cold nights that reveal the universe.
Earlier this year I would have responded to all this with anger, shaking my fist at the sky. Now, I suppose God has worn me down. Now I merely turn and go back inside, sheltering the tiny candle flame of hope that sputters in the gentle, chilly breeze. And this week, I pray for that stirring up, even as I’m coming to believe that God just doesn’t work like that. That no matter how much I need a rain that saturates me from head to toe, I will walk out each night to find only dry air. As much as I need some hint that Christ is close to me, is still near, there is just the cold and starry night. While I am ready to welcome the billowing and powerful clouds of the storm, I see only clear skies.
And I wonder, staring at the crystal clear constellations, who could ever find hope in the stars of Christmas night?
Stir up my soul, O Lord.
You are in my prayers and please keep me in yours.