But then, I had a teacher once who told me never to apologize before you begin. Oops.
O come, Thou Key of David, come
And open wide our heav'nly home
Make safe the way that leads on high
And close the path to misery
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.The first two lines of this, I was wondering what in the world I was going to say. That is, of course, Jesus's mission, and I could continue the theme of focusing on the next world that runs straight through Advent.
But there's something deeply fascinating to me about the implications of the third and fourth line. Because of course, yes, we should be hoping for exactly that...but doesn't it sound a little like resigning free will? "closing the path" after all. Is that what is God's plan? Or is that what we want?
What would that world look like, and is that what is coming with the Second Coming? A clear, even path that leads us ever closer to God and no alternative route to look inviting, easier, or on and on. No way to fall into the terrible depths.
And yet, this weekend, stories have appeared of children born into their parents lowest points in life. So many people only found the will to reach higher after treading down the path of misery.
Yet again, set against that, is some thoroughly unnecessary and not visibly productive misery suffered by some of my students (they're fine for now, but prayers are always good).
And I'm reminded of two (very different) roles played by David Tennant that touch on this. His Doctor Who (sci fi show) episode where he rants that the human race is always being taken over by one thing or another (fair within the show) and that he "sometimes think[s] you like it. Surrender that control and responsibility." And an even darker version of taking away our choice (to misbehave -- even for our benefit --) in his role in Jessica Jones.
We care a lot about our free will in this country. In this modern world. More than when "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" was written. When there were so many ways to step off the straight and narrow road that led to anything but earthly misery. Which fits in well with my whole shtick about how hell is only the places that we build on earth. Then, cutting off the choices and coincidences and chance that could knock you out of a comfortable life must have looked like a Godsend. And may have been.
But if we are not making the decisions, is it us at all? Are we free then of the responsibility? Would we rest and forget? What would spur us to reach higher? Would we wander around or stand still rather than traveling that safe way that leads on high? Is that why we have the paths of misery? To keep us from standing still as it nips at our heels? To help us see everything clearly?
Or is all suffering ultimately unnecessary and will someday pass away?
I can't imagine the new world after the Second Coming, the New Jerusalem we await in Advent, in oh so many ways. But here is another. When sin and death and the path of misery have been conquered and eradicated, what will the world look like? And what else will they take with them when they go?
Because you know that even in a finally redeemed world, we'll find a way to romanticize what's missing, no matter what it is. So I ask the question now. What kinds of grace and blessing is only available here in this Fallen World? What face of God is here for us in this fractured place?
And how will it be different from the face of God in the world redeemed?

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