The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ the Son of God.
As it is written in Isaiah the prophet:
Behold, I am sending my messenger ahead of you; he will prepare your way.
A voice of one crying out in the desert: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight his paths.”
John the Baptist appeared in the desert proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.
People of the whole Judean countryside and all the inhabitants of Jerusalem
were going out to him and were being baptized by him in the Jordan River as they acknowledged their sins.
John was clothed in camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist.
He fed on locusts and wild honey.
And this is what he proclaimed:
“One mightier than I is coming after me. I am not worthy to stoop and loosen the thongs of his sandals.
I have baptized you with water; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” - Mark 1:1-8
I think I have a lot to learn from John the Baptist. He does come off a little crazy in this passage, eating locusts and all, but at LV we ate the ants that made their way into our peanut butter, so who am I to judge? But in all seriousness, I find John’s radical simplicity both inspiring and challenging. His ability to live with so little offered him the freedom to travel and preach the word of God. As I struggle to commit myself to a simplicity that my friends find difficult to understand, I need to remind myself why I’m doing it—to live in solidarity with those I serve, gain a better appreciation for what I’ve been given, and ultimately to bring me closer to God. Because in getting closer to God I learn how to better prepare the way of the Lord by building His kingdom.
This Advent season I have been asking myself how I can build the Kingdom of God, and ironically enough, I’ve decided that I need to start by tearing down much of what society has built. We need to start by tearing down the structures and systems that create injustice and divisions among us.
For me, that means helping my clients navigate a system that seeks to leave them without a voice. For one reason or another, be it language, economic resources, or immigration status, the majority of my clients feel as though no one is willing to listen to their stories and their needs. One particular client stands out to me. She was a survivor of domestic violence who has been doing her best to provide for her two young daughters on her own. In her efforts to take her children back to Guatemala to meet their grandparents for the first time, she has faced several legal barriers because she is no longer in contact with the children’s father. Over the course of two trips to the Daley Center, one to Cabrini Green Legal Aid, one to the Social Security office, several office visits to fill out paper work, and over 21 hours together, we’ve learned a lot about each other and she’s well on her way to resolving the issue. While I love being able to help her navigate public transportation, translate for her in front of a judge or fill out legal forms for her, the best part is seeing her learn how to do these things without my help; for example, she now feels comfortable taking transportation to her lawyer’s office on her own. I hope that now she feels more confident to make her own voice heard even when I’m not there. I like to think of it this way; if I believe that I can see Christ in everyone I meet, then by tearing down some of the societal barriers in her pathway, I am truly preparing the way of the Lord. And that’s the key part—I’m preparing the way for her, but she is the one who is actually making the journey.
But sometimes, I can’t help the people that find their way to my office. They don’t qualify at any of the organizations we refer them to because they don’t have a Social Security number, or I have to break the news to them that we don’t actually have any money to give out. These are the times when I feel like just a voice crying out in the desert, like my efforts for peace and justice are a futile pursuit. In these moments I question how John the Baptist found the strength to carry on when people ridiculed him or did not listen to his message, and I think that it probably has everything to do with the fact that he knew in his heart that he wasn’t doing his will, he was doing God’s. Looking at it that way reminds me that ultimately my work this year is not about my successes or failures but about trying my best to do God’s will. And if I really take that to heart, I will do my service with the same humility John expresses when he says, “I am not worthy to stoop and loosen the thongs of his sandals.”
It also helps to remind myself that if I, a middle-class while female with a college education, feel like I’m just crying out in a desert without results, then how much more do others who do not have those advantages feel? I had the opportunity last week to visit the Mexican/American border in Arizona, where hundreds of thousands of people attempt to cross the desert each year, usually because they are in such extreme poverty that they will risk their lives to try to provide for their families. There, in a literal desert, far from my comfort zone, I was: reminded of how much I have, pained to see how our broken immigration system is hurting so many people, and challenged to be aware of my own complicity and failure to take action. One woman, a migrant who was recently deported from the United States tearfully said to me, “If you knew what our life was like, if you knew we worry every day about whether we can even feed our children even just one meal, you would understand why we try to enter your country.” For me, this year is about pushing myself to be more aware of social justice issues just like this, issues that it would be easier to just ignore; it would be easier for me not to know about this woman’s starving children because then I wouldn’t feel called to do something about it. I know that I am doing important work from 9 to 5, five days a week, but I’m becoming more and more aware of the fact that I can’t just leave my kingdom building efforts at the office. Through the trip, God taught me a new type of compassion and empathy for the immigrants in Chicago that I serve and a passion for making sure that their voices are heard, both in my work and after hours.
I don’t think I ever really understood in my heart the words of the song, “All Are Welcome” until I saw the faces and heard the voices of people who are being told that they are NOT welcome. As the first verse says, “Let us build a house where love can dwell and all can safely live….built of hopes and dreams and visions, rock of faith and vault of grace; here the love of Christ shall end divisions. All are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.” This Advent I pray that we may all be open to going outside our comfort zones to learn how God is calling each of us to Build his Kingdom, a house without divisions where all really ARE welcome.
Another LV Volunteer, Melissa Carnall, has shared her Advent reflection, "Waiting in Joyful Hope", on her personal blog - click here to read.
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