Again the voice cries out: “Prepare the way of the Lord” – as it did last year; as it will again. What have you prepared? What will you remember about this Advent? 

Did you know I used to live in Loudoun County back in the 1980s? I owned a home in the hamlet of Paeonian Springs. After growing up in Florida and always living near the ocean, suddenly I was inland and living on the first ridge of the Blue Ridge Mountains. After years of competitive swimming, I was now living in a county that, at that time, did not have a public swimming pool. I needed a new sport.

Loudoun County was very different back then; there was very little traffic, making it an amazing place to ride bicycles across the rolling hills, beautiful landscapes, horse farms and more. To the east of where I lived was relatively flat; to the west lay Catoctin and Mt. Weather – a lot of serious ups and downs. If I went north I was passing through Revolutionary War settlements and some amazing horse country. To the south it was again rolling hills, steep climbs, and lots of horse farms owned by Hollywood actors. All of this is connected by planned roads and other roads that they just paved over where the cattle had traditionally roamed. If you wanted to go riding out where I lived you needed a county roadmap.

Advent is like that. It is one of the amazing seasons of the liturgical year – and I wonder if too often we travel it without any planning, without looking back at the years and Advents past, to check out the route we are on, to take in the scenery of this spiritual season. There are countless routes we have taken, can take again, and new roads just waiting to be explored.

I bought a Loudoun County map, studied it, and in time began to color code it. The black roads were steep climbs and daredevil descents. The green roads were easy rolling hills. The yellow highlights were in between. Some of the roads were marked with big red dots. That meant you were likely to be chased by a dog – so either avoid the road or be prepared to sprint. Soon enough I had explored the entire county and had maybe 25-30 different routes ranging from 30 to 100 miles in length – and knew the way by heart and memory. I knew the landmarks and over the years watched the county morph and change.

Lots of people came out from Washington DC and the Northern Virginia suburbs to ride. Loudon was an easy place to lose your way. You came across people with maps, standing in a group, pointing in different directions, and someone plaintively lamenting, “I told you we should have…”; should have stopped for directions, taken the last turn, or any manner of “I told you so” commentary. Often they had not brought enough water, overestimated their fitness, and had already ridden too far.  Moods had turned sour, backs and bums were sore, and they knew it would be a long, silent slog back to the car.  They weren’t prepared for the journey; they struggled and missed the sights along the way.

Advent can often catch us by surprise, wedged between Thanksgiving, swept into black Friday and cyber Monday, with Christmas looming and all that needs to be done for the holidays. Advent can catch us unprepared.

Knowing the way is what opens you up to seeing all the surprises along the way. It is like the road to Taylorstown. The path isn’t straight, the valleys are definitely not filled, and not one hill on the road is made low. But if you know the road, the familiar turns and climbs free one to pay attention to what is along the way. Instead of being glued to the handlebars and road, you can take in the wonder of the Firestone Ranch, the Christmas decorations in Waterford, and the countryside that God has adorned in all its holiday finery. Memory lets you shift into the best gear, taking the best line through the turns, and hitting the climbs with an optimal cadence. The way is almost straight, the hills not so tall, and the rough ways are made smooth. I haven’t seen Taylorstown Road in years, but I still know the way – and there is still a newness waiting for me on that road.

For me, the Taylorstown loop is a metaphor for Advent. You have to intentionally choose to go there – not once, just passing through, but to return each season. Each time you need to mark the map in black, green, and yellow, with the red dots to mark the rough spots. My map includes an Advent spent on Mfangano Island in Lake Victoria, lots of Advents at sea submerged on patrol, the Advents of my youth when each day we opened the windows on the Advent calendar – all memories and marks on the road map of one life. Each one preparing me for the next one.  The way becoming almost straight, the hills not so tall, and the rough ways became a bit more smooth. It all allowed me to see new wonders along the way.

What do you remember about last Advent and other Advents past? Is the way becoming part of heart and memory forming your spiritual map of the season? What do you hope to take away from this Advent? 

You can be the occasional tourist on the Advent way with no memory or map, just sloughing your way through like the ill prepared cyclists at the side of a Loudoun County road. You can be a resident with the map and memories, not just of the road, but of the beauty along the way. It’s your choice, your Advent.

The voice of the herald again cries out: “Prepare the way of the Lord.” This is Advent.

Amen.

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