2016: a year of listening

* I like to begin every year with a word or phrase that rings in my heart, and serves as a guide for the year ahead. In 2010, the phrase was “a year of gifts”. In 2011, it was “a year of remembrance”. In 2012, it was a year of courage. In 2013, it was a year to believe. In 2014, it was a year of seeing. Last year, it was a year of forgiveness. Thanks to some amazing people who taught me this, it has become a practice I’ve cherished at the dawn of every new year.

“Zechariah said to the angel, “Do you expect me to believe this? I’m an old man and my wife is an old woman.”

But the angel said, “I am Gabriel, the sentinel of God, sent especially to bring you this glad news. But because you won’t believe me, you’ll be unable to say a word until the day of your son’s birth.”

… Asking for a tablet, Zechariah wrote, “His name is to be John.” That took everyone by surprise. Surprise followed surprise — Zechariah’s mouth was now open, his tongue loosed, and he was talking, praising God!” (Luke 1:18–20; 63–64)

At the arrival of the Miracle, the angel Gabriel made some important visits. One of them was to Zechariah, He was to be the father of John. Later, the father of John the Baptist, the herald of Jesus Christ.

Zechariah’s reaction was one of incredulity. He was old. His wife was old. He talked. He expressed his disbelief. Good news was finding it difficult to bear life in his heart.

So Gabriel declared: you shall not speak, until the coming of a new birth into your life. Instead, you shall struggle to express your heart’s content. Instead, from now on, you shall not chatter, and be only capable of listening.

Today — the first day of 2016 — I look back at 2015: a year of forgiveness. How forgiveness brought such joy, such cleansing to my year. Cherished relationships and friendships were mended and actually grew. And imperatively, I let go, and let healing come to me. New relationships were born. Forgiveness was called on again and again. The anchor of my soul. The nightlight in dark corners. A word I’m, day by day, still learning the power of. In moments I fall short, in times I’m not enough. Forgiveness, mercy, grace, let it rain.

What will serve as my guide, that will take me by the hand this year? It’s a year of much uncertainty. Where will I be? What will I do? What of precious, precious relationships? What of all of them?

I don’t know what 2016 will bring. But there is a sense this prayer, this call, this message emblazoned in fire in the sky, is coming up again and again. Like a carol that harks underneath my surface thoughts.

Be still, my soul. And listen.

Let not my achievements and yearnings to be big dominate my year. Let not my reasoning, my rationales, my excuses be the words of my mouth. Let not my own thinking, my own heart’s wants, be the flavor my tongue desires.

Instead, I choose to listen. Instead, let angels of life and wonder and surprise and mystery visit me in my duties, and come with words of great news, of great challenges. And let me not chatter though the vision and possibilities, but yield to it. To prepare the way, to worship. To listen to what God is doing in me, around me, this year.

This will call for humility. I live in an age where we are pressured to beat our chest, show ourselves strong. But instead, I am to struggle in listening. Struggle in stilling my heart, struggle in distilling my life to habits that etch a pathway to a listening life. To block out the noise. To quiet the voices inside.

Because, as I see miracles, as I slowly hear the heavens part and new births of spirit and swaddle-wrapped salvation come forth, praise be to God! That the chorus will be joined by gratitude, patience, exclamation, and a life esteeming a keenful ear.

To listen. Or, as its old Germanic root points to,
To pay attention.
To obey.
To still. 
And to embrace the struggle of it all.

Oh Father, I stand yet again at the precipice of a new year. There is so, so much uncertainty. But I come with a heart that wants to be prepared for it.

There will be many voices.
There will be much noise.
There will be struggle in the listen.

But may my heart, my ears, my mouth, my dreams, my desires, my sin, my cherished loved ones, my greatest needs, be stilled in the light of your glory and grace and leadership.

Be still my soul. And listen.

Amen.

Drum sound rises on the air,
its throb,
my heart.

A voice inside the beat says,
“I know you’re tired.
But come.
This is the way.”
- Rumi