My Advent adventure

It's not that she doesn't have a lot of faith that God will heal us. It's just that she also has a lot of mental problems. And she wants to fix them now.

By Anne Lamott

Dec 10, 1998 | We are now in the third week of Advent, which is a big time of year formy Jesusy people. The new church year begins and a new note is struck: It isa time of preparation and waiting, because even though, as autumn grinds to a dark and murky halt, everything is dying and falling asleep and falling off,something brand new is coming. Hope is coming. And so one of the messages of Advent is, don't weep over leaves.

The belief is that enough hope and tenderness will lead to world peace,one mind at a time. All nations will come together in kindness and justice,swords will be beaten into plowshares, spears into pruning hooks. This is a little hard to buy with a world stage occupied by Saddam Hussein and Kenneth Starr. But setting aside one's tiny tendency toward cynicism, in the meantime -- in Advent -- we wait; and hope appears if we truly desire to see it. Maybe it's in tiny little packets here and there, hidden in the dying grasslike winter wildflowers, but we find it where we can, and exactly as it comes to us, while the days grow dark. We remind ourselves that you can only see the stars when it is dark, and the darker it is, the brighter the light breaking through. Advent is about the coming of Emmanuel, which means "God with us," and so as the fields outside our windows go to sleep, we stay awake and watch, holding to the belief that God is with us, is close and present, and that we will be healed.

I want that belief, and that patience; I checked the box on the form choosing that. But it has not been forthcoming. I have instead been feeling a little -- what is the psychiatric term? -- cuckoo. My mind has been doing a Native American worry chant, WORRYworryworryworryworryworryworryworryWORRYworryworry ... It's not that I don't have a lot of faith. It's just that I also have a lot of mental problems. And I want to fix them all, and I want to do that now, or at least by tomorrow afternoon, right after lunch.

I thought about calling our pastor and trying to get her to try to fix me, but she had left town for a little R&R. This is just intolerable. I have told her more than once that we wouldn't have hired her if we'd known that she was a minister with boundaries. So I started calling all the other religious people I know, but discovered that, even though God may be ever present and close by, none of His or Her spokespeople were in very good moods.

The first Protestant pastor I reached seemed bitter. "Can we talk about God?" I asked.

"Who's that?" he said.

So I called a Jewish friend, who usually makes me laugh, but I could tell right away she was in a terrible mood. Her children were keening in the background.

"You should smack those children," I said warmly.

"Tell me about it."

"I was wondering if you could tell me if there's a Jewish equivalent of Advent; what spiritual preparation is called for in the weeks before you light the first Chanukah candle."

There was a long silence. "This is a joke, right?" she asked.

"No, no, talk to me. So, well, you're Reform, right?"

"Of course we're Reform. We've got a crucifix on our front door. Look,"she said, "call me tomorrow. My child just drew with Magic Markers on the TVscreen. Tomorrow we'll have an invigorating talk about the menorah, about Judas Macabee casting the Syrian thugs out of the Holy Land. And I don't mean Miami Beach."

I called another minister. "My mind is on the fritz," I said."I want God to reach down with His or Her magic wand and restore me to my former luster."

"Good luck, Bubbie. Here's the only thing I'm sure of: Go take care of God's children today, and God will take care of you."

"Does it say that somewhere?"

"Yes, it's right here, under 'Secret of Life' in my Owner's Manual.""I never got an Owner's Manual."

"Fundamentalists would say you did: It's the Bible."

"Pretty darn great to be so sure of things, huh?"

"I heard a joke once, maybe it will cheer you up: A godly woman dies and goes to her reward, and is being shown around heaven by St. Peter. They walk through meadows and fields filled with people of all ages and colors, warmed by a gentle sun, lulled by the strains of soft sweet music -- black and white and Asian and Indian people, Hindus,Jews, Muslims, all of a family, laughing, resting by ponds, playing,listening, being. And then they come to a great walled portion of heaven, miles of land surrounded by tall thick walls.

"'What's this?' the woman asks.

"'Oh, that's where the fundamentalists stay,' said Peter. 'It's only nice for them when they think they're the only ones here.'"

I laughed. "I'm going to go eat a thousand candy bars now."

"Atta girl. Sorry I can't help. Why don't you try a Catholic?"

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