“And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.”
—Luke 2:12, New American Bible
The signs of the times are all around us. They offer a message that’s open to interpretation and they also call us to respond in some way.
Sometimes it may be tempting to pay most of our attention only to the signs that seem threatening or induce fear and anxiety. “Recessions, elections, and surges, Oh My!” If we tune into TV ads, we are badgered to pay attention to signs of our personal decline—bodily entropy such as hair loss and sagging skin—even in the midst of a pandemic. We are told to pay attention to signs of tooth decay and onset diabetes, depression and cancers of many varieties to terrify us into fleeing down the pharmaceutical rabbit holes. Not to decry health care and transportation as unimportant, but if we were to focus on the vast majority of signs that bombard us through advertising, prescription meds, beauty products, insurance and luxurious vehicles will supposedly offer a balm for what ails us.
The message? Protection. Escape. Control. Power. Appearance. Invincibility. Exclusive access. And the seduction of guaranteed coverage to protect us in every eventuality, even though death is inevitable and ontological poverty is endemic to the human condition.
The response? For many, it’s to buy more stuff. Consume. Anesthetize. Dull. Numb.
And for some, turn off the TV. Tune into the wider “We” in every way possible.
And what of the unbearable signs? The ones that make us avert our eyes and close our hearts because the pain is too great?
The message? Pay attention! Behold! Hear the cries of the poor and suffering!
The response? For many, it’s compassion, reaching out, feeding, clothing, sheltering, loving. Unfortunately, for many, If it’s too sad, look away. Tune out the cries of hunger, homelessness, abuse, neglect and profound sadness. It’s someone else’s problem, someone else’s responsibility. Compassion fatigue is real. Buy yourself a new gadget for distraction. This will all go away.
It’s not just about signs directed at our humanity. What of the signs of an Earth in peril? Even the signs of environmental devastation escape our attention as to their root causes and their deleterious effects on the whole biosphere. How can we read these signs apart from the web of life in which we are embedded? What of the signs of rampaging wildfires and calamitous hurricanes, droughts and derechos? Our anthropocentrism seems to circumvent our broad vision. We tend to see and interpret these signs with ourselves as the hermeneutical key, and rush to ameliorate human costs often without regard for the wider “We.” We are looking through a microscope at one strand while the web of life itself is being compromised. Reading these troubling signs of Earth’s degradation might stir us into active hope if we could let go of our need to be dominant in the web of life. We might stop obsessing about our own self-preservation and focus on the life of the whole planet. We might recognize that the signs of life are everywhere if we pay attention.
Where do we look for signs of life amidst all the poverty and devastation of our world? Especially in the Job-like dung heap that has been 2020, so many are seeking a sign of comfort and joy that will not erode when the painkillers wear off and the medicinal stupor subsides. What about signs of deep, abiding joy, and the promise of comfort that reaches and surrounds the soul, permeating our spirit with gratitude and hope? They don’t need to be spectacular, like a fireworks display or the thundering of wild horses. What is it about “ordinary” signs that we seem to miss so frequently in daily life and that might be a sign of our salvation?
When we were children, elusive rainbows, fluffy cloud formations, crystalline snowflakes and pearlized dewdrops captured our attention, along with creeping insects and twinkling starlight, furry creatures and splashy, happy jumping-puddles after the rain. As adults, we can miss these signs, forgetting our vocation as “mystics of the ordinary.” Heavenly bodies may mesmerize while dancing in alignment, and colossal seismic disturbances can certainly capture our attention, but what subtle signs of nature are we missing while chasing our adult tornados? What about signs of sun blazing at the dawn of each day, the morning star that guides our way, and the gentle shroud of bella Luna as she lights the night sky? What about the song of the hoot-owl and the bullfrog? What about signs of goodwill and compassion that take the form of emergency aid workers, rushing to the scene in a time of crisis? What about signs of birdsong following a wildfire and ground squirrels emerging from their hiding after a deluge? What about signs of new saplings rising tremulously and leaning into the sunlight after a derecho? What about the yips of puppies whose tails are miraculous, whose hearing is astounding, whose appetite for their pack is overwhelming? What about reading the daily signs of the ordinary that are no less miraculous?
To quote J.D. Salinger from Franny and Zooey, “How in hell are you going to recognize a legitimate holy man when you see one if you don’t even know a cup of concentrated chicken soup when it’s right in front of your nose?”
Here’s one sign that presents itself not just in Christian mythos, but in countless camps and makeshift shelters all over the globe:
A precious babe
Born into poverty and slavery, a refugee, a nobody
Completely helpless, totally vulnerable
The birthing place—a stable, a dump, a toxic waste station
The death bed a tree, a gurney, a nursing home, a prison, a cubicle
Home is a hillside, next to the sea, a desert, a tent in the middle of nowhere, the gutters, under the freeway
When the babe is near
Everyone’s heart melts with joy
Fills the hollowed places with rapt wonder and overflowing hope
Sounds of laughter and crying
Tender presence, gentle accompaniment
Sacred connection of Mother and son, Father and daughter, brother and sister, Oma and Opa, auntie and uncle
Creature-kin and arbor elders, eating and drinking the same fruits of the Earth
And friends, friends, friends, brothers and sisters all
We listen
We see with the inner eye
We wait and we wonder
It’s the sign of the babe.
The message:
Do not be afraid
Hope
Vulnerability
Trust
Love
God is with us – the wider “We”
The response: Rejoice!
“Gaude, Gaude! Emmanuel
Nascetur pro te Israel!”
“Rejoice, rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to you, Israel!”
—Laura Weber, Prairiewoods associate director and retreats coordinator