Dai­ly Reflec­tion
Novem­ber 29, 2015

Sunday of the First week in Advent
Lectionary: 3
Mau­reen McCann Waldron

“Beware that your hearts do not become drowsy from … the anx­i­eties of dai­ly life….” Luke 21

It’s Advent!  Too often, my first response might be to make a list of what needs to be done in the weeks ahead to pre­pare for Christ­mas.  It is easy to feel anx­i­ety about “get­ting it all done.”  Or, we can pause and reflect on enter­ing into Advent this year as a sea­son with mean­ing.  I know it will be a bet­ter sea­son if I can re-adjust my expec­ta­tions in a way that will bring me to Christ­mas Day with a clos­er rela­tion­ship with God and a deep­er con­nec­tion to the nativ­i­ty.
The read­ings for the First Sun­day of Advent, this first day of the new litur­gi­cal year, begin with a hope and a reas­sur­ance: “The days are com­ing when I will ful­fill the promise I made….”

That read­ing from Jere­mi­ah was orig­i­nal­ly meant to encour­age a peo­ple who were dev­as­tat­ed by war, whose coun­try was over­run and whose lead­ers had been tak­en away by the ene­my.  The Israelites were unsure of who they were and what they would become as a peo­ple.  Jere­mi­ah com­pares them to a for­est that has been cut down, leav­ing no safe­ty, no resources.

And to those peo­ple, God promis­es that out of that bar­ren land, a tiny shoot, a small sign of life will appear on a life­less stump: “I will raise up for David a just shoot; he shall do what is right and just in the land.”  God goes on to promise them not only that Judah would one day be safe, but that Jerusalem would be secure.  To those liv­ing back then, the promise would have seemed out­sized and almost impos­si­ble, yet offer­ing hope.
God’s promise of safe­ty, secu­ri­ty and love is for me, too.  The read­ings in the final weeks of Ordi­nary Time and the first weeks of Advent are meant to have us pon­der the life we have today.  How can I live that life?  Am I wan­der­ing in my own desert aim­less and con­fused? Or, do I real­ly believe in my heart that God is here in my every­day life with me, help­ing me to be safe and secure?

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus, in his deep famil­iar­i­ty with the “end time” read­ings of the Old Tes­ta­ment, offers a vision of a world out of order.  The sun and moon are no longer in align­ment and the roar of the sea and waves ter­ri­fy peo­ple. These read­ings don’t fright­en me but they do grab my atten­tion, as if God is beg­ging me not to be over­whelmed with what is out of order, but to pay atten­tion to the promise, here and now.

Jesus talks about the anx­i­eties of dai­ly life and cau­tions us to “not become drowsy” from them.  I know I have expe­ri­enced anx­i­ety in life over fam­i­ly, health and work.  We can fret about every­thing from ter­ror­ism to our “To Do” list.  But Jesus is offer­ing us hope, con­so­la­tion and his end­less love.  He tells us to pay atten­tion at all times and to pray for strength.  What he real­ly wants is for us to know how very deeply each one of us is loved and cher­ished by him.  I find this very consoling.

Rely­ing on that love releas­es my fierce grip on con­trol of my life.  We can stop each morn­ing, set aside our “To Do” list and pray.  We can ask God to help us feel how deeply we are loved and to help us let go of things that real­ly don’t matter.

I am moved to turn to the words from today’s First Let­ter to the Thes­sa­lo­ni­ans, “May the Lord make you increase and abound in love for one anoth­er … so as to strength­en your hearts…”  It’s Advent!

Mau­reen McCann Waldron

Co-founder of Creighton’s Online Min­istries, Retired 2016

The most impor­tant part of my life is my fam­i­ly – Jim my hus­band of 47 years and our two chil­dren.  Our daugh­ter Katy, a banker here in Oma­ha, and her hus­band John, have three won­der­ful chil­dren: Char­lotte, Daniel and Eliz­a­beth Grace.  Our son Jack and his wife, Ellie, have added to our joy with their sons, Peter and Joseph.

I think fam­i­ly life is an incred­i­ble way to find God, even in (or maybe I should say, espe­cial­ly in) the most frus­trat­ing or mun­dane moments. 
I am a native of the East Coast after grad­u­at­ing in 1971 from Arch­bish­op John Car­roll High School in sub­ur­ban Philadel­phia. I grad­u­at­ed from Creighton Uni­ver­si­ty in 1975 with a degree in Jour­nal­ism and spent most of the next 20 years in cor­po­rate pub­lic rela­tions in Oma­ha.  I returned to Creighton in the 1990s and com­plet­ed a master’s degree in Chris­t­ian Spir­i­tu­al­i­ty in 1998. 

As our chil­dren were grow­ing up, my favorite times were always fam­i­ly din­ners at home when the four of us would talk about our days. But now that our kids are gone from home, my hus­band and I have redis­cov­ered how nice it is to have a qui­et din­ner togeth­er.  I also have a spe­cial place in my heart for fam­i­ly vaca­tions when the kids were lit­tle and four of us were away from home togeth­er. It’s a joy to be with my grow­ing family.

Writ­ing a Dai­ly Reflec­tion is always a graced moment, because only with God’s help could I ever write one.  I know my own life is hec­tic, dis­joint­ed and imper­fect and I know most of us have lives like that. I usu­al­ly write from that point of view and I always seem to find some sen­tence, some word in the read­ings that speaks right to me, in all of my imper­fec­tion. I hope that what­ev­er I write is in some way sup­port­ive of others. 

It’s an incred­i­bly hum­bling expe­ri­ence to hear from some­one who was touched by some­thing I wrote. Whether the note is from some­one across cam­pus or across the world, it makes me real­ize how con­nect­ed we are all in our long­ing to grow clos­er to God.