Holy Disruptions

I don’t have any reason to think I’m normal, but my desire for life running smoothly is something many share. Maybe it's a desire I was born with, one that was marinated in the television shows of my youth that had neat and tidy families and white picket fences. Maybe it’s a desire fueled by the chaotic stage of life in which I find myself. Wherever it comes from, or whatever caused it to swell, the idea of life being a serene row across a placid lake is something I find particularly appealing, especially at this time of year.

But this is the the season of disruptions. Parties, traditions, and shopping lay the foundation, then children get sick (or fail to live up to expectations when to Grandmother's house we go), husbands and wives lose their focus, and weather fails to create the perfect backdrop.

The disruptions are countless, which may point to one of the most important aspects of this season theologically. It's a season built around a disruption, a holy disruption, and that disruption has changed the world forever.

Just when you thought it was safe to be a first century Palistinan Jew, when raising a family, going to synagogue, and practicing your trade was enough to handle, your world was disrupted.

Just when you thought life was ordinary, that God was distant and cold, your understanding was disrupted.

Just when your guilt and shame became consuming, your spirit was disrupted. 

Angels appeared uninvited,

. . . fiancés were asked to accept hard-to-swallow news,

. . . . . . . . . . .shepherds were awakened,

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and stars realigned.

All were holy disruptions of one sort or another. For those set in their ways, those longing for a serene row across a placid spiritual lake, it was a most unsettling time. But for those with eyes, ears, and hearts awake, it was a time filled with surprise, hope, and wonder. They were the ones who learned that new life is found in disruptions.

It still is.