Advent

"How proper it is that Christmas should follow Advent. For him who looks toward the future, the manger is situated on Golgotha, and the cross has already been raised in Bethlehem." --Dag Hammarskjold

Advent is a season of preparation. For centuries Christians have used the month prior to the celebration of Christ’s incarnation to ready their hearts and their homes for the great festival.

While we moderns tend to do a good bit of bustling about in the crowded hours between Thanksgiving and Christmas—shopping for presents, compiling guest lists, mailing holiday greeting cards, perusing catalogs, decorating hearth and home, baking favorite confections, and getting ready for one party after another--that hardly constitutes the kind of preparation Advent calls for. Indeed, traditionally Advent has been a time of quiet introspection, personal examination, and repentance. It is a time to slow down, to take stock of the things that matter the most, and to do a thorough inner housecleaning.

Advent is, as the ancient dogma of the Church asserts, a Little Pascha--a time of fasting, prayer, confession, and reconciliation. All the great Advent stories, hymns, customs, and rituals--from the medieval liturgical antiphons and Scrooge’s Christmas Carol to the lighting of Advent candles and the eating of Martinmas beef are attuned to this notion: that the best way to prepare for the coming of the Lord is to make straight His pathway in our hearts.

The Whip of Advent

The pitch of the stall was glorious
Though the straw was dusty and old
The wind sang with orchestral beauty
Though it blew bitter and cold

The night was mysteriously gleaming
Though the earth was fallen, forlorn
For under the eaves of splendor
A child-The Child-was born

Oxen Sheep and doves
Crowded round Nativity's scene
Though the world still failed to grasp
T’was here that peace had been

Cast out into a cave
When no room was found for Him
His coming was a scourge
That cleansed a robber's den

While the Temple's become a cattle stall
Where beasts and such are sold
The Child's turned Manger into Temple
And changed the base to gold

Tis the paradox of the ages:
Worldly wisdom will ne're relent
To notice signs of visitation
Nor the cords of the whip of Advent
--Tristan Gylberd

Failure: The Backdoor to Success

Theodore Roosevelt was never afraid to fail. In fact, he often wore his failures as badges of honor. To him, the attempt, the effort, and the sheer pluck of involvement was what really mattered in the end, “Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy much nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.”

Though he enjoyed many successes throughout his career, he had his share of failures. He never allowed them to stymie his sense of responsibility and calling. He was often knocked down, but never out.

In addition, he was eager to learn from his mistakes. On this day in 1905, when his administration had lost a strategic legislative battle on the floor of the Senate, he called each of the men who had led the opposition to the White House. Expecting an angry tirade or an hysterical harangue, the Senators were surprised when Roosevelt anxiously gathered them around his desk and asked for their advice. “How could I have handled this bill better? What did I say or not say to cause you to oppose it? What should I do in the future to better advance my principles?” The men were stunned. There was no recrimination. There were no lectures. There were no threats. Instead, they found in the President an eager learner—ready to accept the blame for his own shortcomings and then to try to move on and do better on another day. One of them later confessed, “I learned more about leadership and greatness in that one incident than in all my previous years in politics.”

Elihu Root, who served as Roosevelt’s Secretary of State, called him “the most advisable man I ever knew.” “If he was convinced of your sincerity,” said the Progressive leader Albert Beveridge, “you could say anything to him you liked. You could even criticize him personally.” And the author and social reformer Herbert Croly remarked that he had “never met a man so eager to learn from his mistakes—or even so ready to admit them. It was as if he had no ego.”

Roosevelt was not simply a hopeless romantic or and unrealistic optimist in this regard. Rather he was a man who was secure enough in his calling and purpose in life to remain undeterred by obstacles along the way—be they great or small. His son, Kermit explained, “Some men have a strong sense of destiny. I cannot say that Father could ever fully identify such sentiments in his own experience. But I am quite certain that he knew what to work toward. Whether he ever actually attained to it was another matter altogether—and one of little concern to him.”

For Roosevelt, true leadership not only involved a strength of character that was unafraid to admit failure, was willing to learn from error, and was quick to accept wise counsel, it also involved a sense of calling that was able to integrate such virtues into life with real confidence. For him, failure was merely the backdoor to success.

Thanksgiving Eleventary!

Taken for Granted

"The greater God’s gifts and works, the less they are regarded."
--Martin Luther in Table Talk

"If the constellations appeared only once in a thousand years, imagine what an exciting event it would be. But because they are there every night, we barely give them a look." --Ralph Waldo Emerson in The Essays

"We don't ever take our adversities for granted--only our blessings."
--Dan Gylberd in Going Somewhere

Caedman's "Coffee"

As I was meditating on the strange ironies of Nehemiah 6:1-9, I could not help but remember a poignant, similarly-themed song from Caedman's Call:

I am small; I've seen things far beyond these city walls
The land is flat and it rolls for miles
I don't know much
I know I've many places yet to see
I know I've been here for a while

Wouldn't you know just when I thought I had this figured out
I'm back at my first day at school
Trying not to think too loud
I raise my hand to scratch my head
I've no ideas of what to do

'Cause something's changed today
And what it is I just can't say
And if I don't seem okay, well I'm okay

So sue me! Sue me!
If I just don't want coffee tonight
Back in this coffee house where we just met a week ago
Now we've been friends since we were young
But all our conversations are hitting walls we can't ignore
We can hide but we can't run
And I can't run from you
Or what we've run into
Now regardless what I choose, we both lose

It must be getting late
Where's my head
Where is my head
Where is my head

I still hear you telling me what a big mistake I've made
Funny that's what I've been telling you
I can lead a horse to water
You can even make him drink
But you can't change his point of view

Tonight as I was driving home I passed a coffee shop
You know I wrestled with the truth
And how I'd explain to you
What you could never understand
And how I'd keep my mind from you

But that's the price I pay
Your way is not my way
Today's another day and it's okay

So sue me! Sue me!
If I just don't want coffee tonight
Back in this coffee house where we just met a week ago
Now we've been friends since we were young
But all our conversations are hitting walls we can't ignore
We can hide but we can't run
And I can't run from you
Or what we've run into
Now regardless what I choose, we both lose

I think I need some rest
Rest my head, arrest my head
Rest my head, arrest my head
Rest my head, arrest my head

On the Nightstand

No Eleventary Today

Ugh! No eleventary for the Titans--at least not until Thursday.

First Steps

There is just so much to like about Kerry Collins. Even if his Tennessee Titans fail to win another game this season, his unlikely leadership, his rare humility, his forthright honesty, and his gutsy return to football prominence make him one of the most refreshing figures in sports today. Even ESPN says so! In Rick Reilly's most recent column, he makes the point as only Rick Reilly could:

I like Kerry Collins. Whether he plays like Fran Tarkenton or Fran Drescher, he never makes excuses. After he performed like a Xanaxed ferret in the 2001 Super Bowl, lobbing four picks to the Ravens in the Giants' blowout loss, he stood at the podium postgame and said, "I sucked today. I was prepared. I was ready. I just played terrible." No matter how he screws up his life—and the young Collins found more ways than MapQuest—he always faces the music. Hell, he sticks his face in the tuba.

Agreed. I have no idea if Collins is a believer, or if he has any understanding of the Gospel at all. But, it is clear, he knows a thing or two about the fallenness of man, the need for redemption, and at the very least, the first steps toward repentance. So, it probably comes as no surprise to anyone that I am rooting for Kerry Collins to achieve a for-real Eleventary tomorrow against another of my sports favs, Brett Favre.

The BBQ Song