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I consider myself a pretty capable world traveler. The evidence? I’ve traveled to over 50 countries, and I’m here to tell you about it. It’s a low bar, but it’s good enough.
Now two things I know from years of hoofing it around the world: One I talk about a lot at Epiphany–that the bad thing is never the last thing. The other is the bad thing is usually the story we tell when we get back home.
So, that is where I’ll start today. Kristin and I just returned from Spain where we visited our son, Desmond who is studying in Seville. He is doing well, and it was nice to see him. Kristin and I traveled separately because of different work obligations we had to accommodate.
The flights took us through Madrid. It is a huge airport. Kristin, leaving Seville before me, texted the warning that the connections were tight and the movement through the airport was complicated. So, instead of wearing my travel clogs that I can slip on and off in flight, I chose to wear my sneakers to accommodate an emergency dash if need be. I’m an experienced traveler, after all.
I boarded in Seville and plopped down in my seat by the window, earphones securely in place, before I even sat down. I’m an experienced traveler, after all. Turns out I was in the wrong seat. 27A looks a lot like 28A in Spanish. The woman I displaced arrived a bit later and was flexible enough to just take 28A. Even with earphones on I heard her talking with the man in 28B about catching the connecting flight to Dallas; my connection destination as well. She was worried as we were leaving Seville an hour late. I noted the conversation.
We landed in Madrid 45 minutes before the Dallas flight was to depart. I was ready for the run. I’d done this before. I’m an experienced traveler. Passport and boarding pass in hand. Bag strapped over my shoulder. We got on the bus. I positioned myself at the door ready for a quick exit. As did the man from 28B.
He shot off the bus and up the ramp. I decided to follow him through the airport. He was Spanish, and I suspected his native status would be to my advantage. I’m an experienced traveler, after all, and I know enough to stick with the locals. I further intuited, based on what I would do, that their plan was for him to get to the gate to alert the loading agent that his wife was on her way.
He was a surprisingly good runner. I tucked in a few feet behind him, drafting, as he yelled at people to get out of his way. Not once did he look back at me. But I can guarantee he knew I was there, my feet pounding, my lungs heaving.
About 10 minutes in I noticed were in terminal K, gate 56. Now, last I checked the departing terminal was S. Maybe the gate changed? I’ve seen that before. So, I pulled up next to him. He doesn’t even turn his head. I stammered: “Dallas?” His responded: “Toulouse.” That was a hard stop.I was pretty sure Toulouse wasn’t a suburb of Dallas.
It seems I made a few incorrect assumptions, beginning with the assumption that the woman in 28A was traveling with the man in 28B. Turned out not to be the case. I don’t know why it would have been…I was in her seat, after all.
And so, you’re wondering: what’s the point of this story? Well, that I was in the wrong story. I was in a story that I was seeing through the rearview mirror of all my past travels. What I’d forgotten was the necessity of being present to the story I was currently in. And my inattentiveness meant I was in the terminal K in the massive Madrid airport when I needed to be in terminal S for a flight leaving in 30 minutes.
When we are not attuned to the story we are currently in, we do not have the clarity to read the signs of times.
This is where I shift to Advent, because Advent is the season when we practice reading the signs of the times —- and to read the signs of the times is to be attuned to what God is requiring of us in the world right here, right now. And the point of our existence is to be attuned to what God is calling us to do in the world right here, right now.
After all, that is why we exist, full stop…to be God’s agents, God’s children, as people of hope, as followers of Jesus, to care for our neighbors, to be people of courage, trusting this God of ours.
It starts by taking off our earphones; by being open, not closed; by being connected, not isolated, by being in the world as God is, as God decided to be, clearly, through the birth of Jesus. It necessitates the rigor of not plugging new data, in the framework of an old story, but rather experiencing the story we are really in at any given moment in time. To be ready to do a new thing.
Now, the spiritual exercise designed to help us get better at this is the sermon. The spiritual exercise of the sermon is to enable us to be more capable at reading the signs of the time. It begins by taking the words spoken by me, by the preacher, at face value. Take them for what they are.
And yes, while the words I speak are from the context of my life and bump up against things going on in my brain, they’re given to you to be taken at face value. Which is why the preaching team here at Epiphany is very careful in how we construct sermons. We edit them with diligence, running them through a rigorous process so the words can stand on their own. And that is important because we are Christians who practice a transparent religion. We are not gnostics. There is no secret knowledge in our spirituality. Our sermons are meant to be received as they are given for you to weave into your own context, and wonder what they mean for your own life.
Maybe you’ve never been to Madrid, or on an airplane, or even in an airport, but I know you have encountered a stranger. I know you’ve made assumptions about them based on your history, and what you were seeing and hearing in your head, and not in the reality of the moment.
Maybe it happened at a school function, or a grocery store, or a dark street at night, or even at church. It happened to me in terminal K, as I watched the man from Toulouse disappear into the crowd. It would’ve been nice to blame him for my situation and the feelings it provoked, of which there were many, but I knew he wasn’t part of a secret plot for me to miss my flight. He was simply part of my story, and a part of my story, which I might add, he will never know that he is in.
That was an “Aha” moment for me. Imagine all of the stories we have been in where we have been agents that have transformed a bad thing into a story of redemption that is even being told to this day. My invitation to you this Advent is to be an active agent that seeks out opportunities to transform someone’s bad thing into a story of blessing
That was what was on my mind as I shuffled my way back from terminal K to immigration. Turns out I had to go through immigration (!) even before I could get on the train to terminal S, for a flight due to depart in 15 minutes. And who do I meet standing in line? The woman from 28A. She’s freaked out that she was going to miss her flight. So, I tell her the story of the man from Toulouse. She thinks it is hysterical. It loosened the tension a bit in an immigration line full of very tense people.
Sharing our stories makes a difference. And in that moment I was particularly attuned to being part of a new story…when I notice a young woman, tears in her eyes, (and this is not a Seth Meyers reference) trying to cut into the immigration line. She was panicked that she’s going to miss her flight to Bogota, and people were not particularly kind to her.
So, I wave her over to me, and let her cut in front of me…and only now does it occurs to me, that I may be part of the story she tells when she gets home about how the bad thing wasn’t the last thing.
When we get out of the stories that are receding in our rearview mirror, and into the present moment we are better able to read the signs of the times. That is what we focus on and practice in the season of Advent. It is how we prepare ourselves to be the incarnate God’s agents charged with making the world a better place.
And we train to get good at this, by getting good at hearing what we hear without implying intent or correlation but hearing it for what it is. It was the woman in 28A who was going to Dallas. Everything else were my assumptions, my correlation. Had I been more curious, had I taken off my earphones, had I been present, I would’ve more accurately read the signs of the times.
But there I was, sweating, as I moved through immigration, the clock ticking, nervous that I would miss my flight, earphones now buried in my carry-on bag. As I passed through migration, I turned to the woman from 28A and I said: “I’ll hold a plane for you.” And I took off running. And I’m here to tell you about it.