Scripture Reading for Today:

Anchored by Emmanual

by Tamera Goller and Matte Downey

Today, we have an artistic collaboration to offer you in the Advent Reader. Visual artist, and New Leaf regular, Tamera Goller, has responded to the theme of Advent Undone with two pieces of original art. In addition, Matte Downey, author, poet, and theologian, has responded to the art with some words of her own. Enjoy these offerings as you encounter God today. - Amy Bratton, Advent Undone editor

Held 

Water is life. We need it to survive. A hot July afternoon has us craving for multiple glasses of the cold stuff. Water is also comfort. Nothing beats a steaming cup of chai on a chilly December morning. But water outside my body, especially deep water, is a different matter altogether. It presents itself as danger. 

When we read about the sea in the biblical texts, it is often associated with dread, chaos, and even death. Enemy pursuers are drowned in it. Fishermen fear for their lives when a storm whips up its waves. Deep water is unknown territory, cause for caution and alarm. 

I know this feeling. I am not a strong swimmer. Some might say I am not a swimmer at all. Yes, I can get across a pool by thrashing my arms and legs, but in anything deeper than four feet, I feel safer wearing a life jacket. Taking swimming lessons as an adult didn’t really help. When I showed the instructor how I tended to sink while floating, he shook his head and informed me that he had never seen anything like it before. Then he waded over to his more promising students. I have never trusted deep water, or should I say, my body in deep water. 

A few years ago, a friend of mine mentioned that their relationship with the divine was like floating in the ocean. You lean back into the vastness and just let go. You trust that you will be held by something that doesn’t seem quite solid enough to do the job, and yet somehow, it does. You are held. 

I found the idea scary and also very attractive. I wanted to experience that kind of trust, that kind of giving of myself to something immense and spacious. The next time I was at the ocean, I waded into the warm water till it lapped up against my chest. I rehearsed the “letting go” in my mind, trying to calm the anticipatory panic that rises whenever I consider lifting my feet off solid ground. I stood there for some minutes, breathing deeply and collecting as much bravery as I could. Then I pushed my toes against the sandy bottom, spread out my arms, and imagined I was falling back into a soft bed. 

The water rose to meet me. It skimmed the edges of my face and splashed over my chin. I leaned my head back and reminded myself that I was being held by mother ocean. There was no reason to panic. As my body rocked in the gentle waves, I observed the clouds slowly meandering across my field of vision, not at all concerned about falling out of the sky. The sun stood solid up above, unwavering, warming all in its gaze. I thought of the many massive planets and stars far beyond the earth, swirling at high speeds, confident that they would be held in their respective orbits. 

Light years away, me and my little faith were but tiny specks in a vast ocean, but we too were being held.

Along the Way

A trusted friend on the left

An unlikely companion to the right

Ahead the way is unclear 

(are we walking on water?)

Points of brightness shimmer all around

Just enough light to see each other

And the next step

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