Fourth Tuesday of Advent
Scripture Reading for Today:
God With Us
by Annie Choi
“Let’s rule out cancer,” echoed in my head as I sat in the waiting room. I had just left my OB-GYN’s office with instructions to get a blood test and an ultrasound. What had started out as a month of spotting (not unusual for me) led to a second month of heavy to excessive bleeding. I’d never been so scared in my life as my mind raced with what-if scenarios about surgery and chemotherapy. All the propriety my Asian immigrant parents had instilled in me was trumped by my fear of the unknown, which compelled me to text my closest friends, sharing the secret I’d been hiding from everyone.
That blood test and ultrasound did not reveal any irregularities. It wasn’t cancer, my hormone levels were normal, and I did not experience the pain or have the growths commonly associated with endometriosis. Without a clear root cause, I was prescribed a powerful antibiotic to hopefully stop the bleeding. A month later, I was still bleeding, and my doctor was no closer to a diagnosis. So she prescribed a second round of the antibiotic and more tests. Then a third. And then the bleeding stopped.
I wish I could tell you that was my happy ending. That like Hannah in today’s lectionary passage, I rejoiced and praised the Lord for answering my prayers by healing me. No, for months after, when my period would start, I felt like I was right back in that waiting room filled with fear and anxiety. Even now, years later, I find myself holding my breath and wondering if the nightmare that had no name will start all over again.
For many of us in church leadership, we’ve experienced seemingly endless seasons of foreboding. From aging buildings in constant need of repairs to broken relationships and leaders stuck in cycles of burnout, financial deficits, and grieving the ones we’ve lost, we barely find resolution or respite from the worry or heartache before we’re anticipating the next shoe to drop. As a global community, we’ve gone from health crises to climate catastrophes to financial instability to war; this “extended period of instability and insecurity” has been named permacrisis.
I imagine Hagar and Hannah felt similarly trapped and helpless due to their circumstances. Marginalized because of her race, class, and gender, Hagar was a servant where she was forced to have Abraham’s child, Ishmael, only to be harassed and, eventually, cast out in the wilderness by Sarah (Gen 16:1–6; 21:8–14). Abandoned and out of water, she cries out as she waits for her son to die. We read in 1 Samuel 1:1-8 how, year after year, Hannah is taunted over her barrenness in a time where a woman’s value is solely based on her ability to bear children. She’s driven to tears and makes a bargain with God to dedicate her child to His service: “...if only you will look on the misery of your servant and remember me...” (1 Sam 1:11, NRSVUE).
During the season of Advent, we follow the traditions in anticipating the hope, peace, love, and joy that come from the birth and second coming of the Messiah. We are reminded of how we live differently in the present with the knowledge of the promise to be fulfilled. As I reflected on the lectionary passages, I had a hard time stomaching the praise on Hannah’s lips. It did not sit right with me to focus on the “after,” how God heard Hagar and Hannah’s cries and demonstrated His faithfulness to them. What was brought to the forefront was the “before,” the desperate circumstances that these women were experiencing as the walls closed in on them. I could not gloss over or turn a blind eye to their suffering. I see my friends, my family, my church community... I see myself in these women. Like Hannah, we may be wondering where God is in all of this; does He even remember us? In that waiting room, I wasn’t desperate for a cure; I craved connection. Perhaps instead of the Saviour, some of us are being reminded of Emmanuel, God with us.
I’ve been reading “Burnout: The Secret To Unlocking The Stress Cycle,” by Emily and Amelia Nagoski, and it struck me how the body keeps track of and holds onto unresolved stress to the detriment of our physical well-being. We’ve witnessed or experienced this during the pandemic— as mental health declined, so did our health. We won’t fare much better in the perpetual limbo of permacrisis. Among a number of strategies the Nagoskis discuss to process stress (including physical exercise, creative self-expression, and gratitude), “affection,” a social strategy, really resonated with me. Research has shown that “a six-second kiss, a twenty-second hug…[and] laughter” can lower one’s blood pressure, improve one’s mood, and tell our bodies that we are safe. In times of stress or languishing, what our bodies need is to not be alone. Isn’t it amazing how interconnected God has designed us to be? Not only can our emotions impact our bodies, but spending time with loved ones also promotes good mental and physical health. This Advent in the midst of uncertainty, let us hold space for one another’s joys and worries, maybe even physically hold one another. May we recognize, experience, or be Emmanuel’s presence. God is with us.
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