Calgary Flame
A little more than a week ago, a Calgary, Alberta traffic reporter on live TV stopped the broadcast to read comments that were being sent to her via email and social media, comments such as:
“Wow, congratulations on becoming pregnant at your age.”
“If you are going to be on TV, maybe you should lose the old bus driver pants.”
“I thought TV reporters had to be attractive.”
Usually she takes these things in stride, knowing that criticism comes with the local-TV celebrity territory. However, that day, something within just said “No more,” and she said this as she wrapped-up her reporting on highway fender-benders and mass transit weather delays:
“For all who have something unkind to say, just know that I am not pregnant. I actually lost my uterus last year, and this is what women my age look like when we’ve gone through something like this.”
This reporter spoke the truth. Not unkindly. Not to shame the commenters. At age 60 after having carried a heavy cross, she was able to say with confidence: “This is who I am.”
I keep returning to this woman’s bravery and her inner-light as I reflected on the Scriptures for this Third Sunday of Advent: the Sunday of Joy.
At the heart of these passages is the gift of understanding: This is who I truly am.
The prophet Isaiah came to know who he was called to be when he proclaimed: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor and to heal the brokenhearted.” The very same words, by the way, that Jesus Himself would proclaim in the synagogue when he unrolled the scroll and announced his own mission.
Paul, once a persecutor of those who called themselves Christian, was able to write to the Thessalonians something he learned from his own spiritual journey: Rejoice always. Pray constantly. Give thanks in all things. Don’t quench the Spirit.
And then there is John the Baptist, echoing many of the things we heard him proclaim in Mark’s Gospel last week: “I am the voice crying out: Make straight the way of the Lord,” and “I am not worthy to untie the straps of Jesus’ sandals.”
John knew who he was and, maybe even more importantly, who he wasn’t. He wasn’t the Savior, nor did he pretend to be or strive to be thought as one by those around him.
I think we spend so much of our lives trying to live-up to expectations placed upon us by others to be something or someone we really aren’t:
To be the A-plus student in every subject. The super-parent. The employee that never makes a mistake. The perfect daughter. The top athlete who wins every award.
We have to look a certain way. Act a certain way. Keep-up with those proverbial Joneses.
To which the Lord steps in and asks each of us: Aren’t you tired?
Aren’t you tired of running from your true self? Of trying to keep up with the burdensome expectations that others place upon your shoulders? Aren’t you suffocating behind the masks that society tells you that you should wear?
Here, then, is the cry from the desert of this Third Week of Advent: Rip the masks off. In all humility and trust, allow yourself to be loved and respected for who you are: not what you do; not what you make; not because of your talents or your kids, your spouse or your successes. Not even because of the assorted labels, pronouns or initials society tells us we should embrace.
Allow yourself to be loved simply as a child of God.
That sounds hokey, I know. But it’s anything but.
Allowing yourself to be loved in this way says that you realize not just who you are but WHOSE you are. You belong to God -- first and foremost. Above all else. You and I are God’s beloved, end of story.
Yes, we are unworthy. Yes, like the Baptist, we don’t deserve such a relationship. We are sinners; we have all been unfaithful to the covenant of our Baptism.
And yet, two things make it possible to return to Him with all our hearts, souls, minds and strength: God’s grace and Christ’s Cross. That’s it.
If we realize that, then we can truly become the light and the presence of joy we are called to be. We can take off the masks and be fully His. In so doing, we also then become his light and joy for others.
How do we do this?
It really is this simple: Confession and Eucharist. Let Him heal you. Let Him fill you. Let Him feed you with His love and mercy. Let God embrace you and hold you to his heart just as he did the Beloved Disciple at the Last Supper.
Jesus Christ longs for us, hungers for us even: every part of us. Not just the beautiful parts when we have it all together. He wants the messy parts; the parts of us that would rather drown in darkness. He wants the parts we hate about ourselves, and the parts we’d rather cover with masks and phoniness.
Maybe, in the end, that is what the journey of life is meant to be: one in which we embrace the giftedness of our lives, especially those parts that have come from carrying crosses and dying-to-self.
John the Baptizer knew who he was and Whose he was, even when the world around him was shouting: Aren’t you …? Shouldn’t you be …? Are you sure you aren’t …?”
Grace and truth made it so for John. As for him, so too for us.
That Calgary traffic reporter in a separate interview with a Canadian newspaper said this following her on-air moment of revelation: “It was really freeing to say to those who have boxed me in, criticized me or shamed me for my looks and my mannerisms: I no longer have to be anyone else but me. It took my own journey of suffering and pain to allow me to love who I really am and then use it to help others be at peace with who they truly are.”