December 22, 2015 | IV Advent, Tuesday

Ps 66, 67 & 116, 117; 1 Samuel 2:1b-10; Titus 2:1-10; Luke 1:26-38

Friday mornings as I drive to work, I listen to StoryCorps on NPR. I love hearing the intimate conversations, the honesty in people's voices as they say some of the most important words in their lives, like "I'm sorry" or "I've always wanted to tell you..." or "You've made me really proud."

Usually by the time I've crossed the James, tears are welling up in my eyes, and I'm still sniffling as I walk into my office, joking to my co-workers about it being another "StoryCorps morning." My co-workers can't take StoryCorps, they say. It's too much, especially in the mornings. It's not how they want to start their day, getting all choked up.

I understand how it would be easier not to listen to these kinds of stories. Though they are heart-warming, they are also demanding and disturbing-disturbing of my generally comfortable, routine life. When I hear a mother say "I forgive you" to the man who killed her son, I can't help but think about how I'm still feeling wounded or righteous about something minor that happened to me weeks ago and why I haven't given it up. Other stories make me question what kind of daughter I've been or what kind of parent I want to be or how much more my life could serve others.

Advent, in many ways, is like StoryCorps. It demands that we wake up, that we reorient ourselves, that we become like Mary, who says "I am the Lord's servant," in response to the angel Gabriel's call.

The call for us comes in many forms, often not so clearly. But I hear it most strongly in stories, in poetry, in relationships with other people where I allow myself to be vulnerable to great joy and great pain. The call is an overwhelming desire to say "yes," as Mary does, to the Christ growing within me.

Briget Ganske

Advent at St. Stephen's

Past meditations