Last night I wiped my eye, and dislodged my contact lens. I couldn't find it on my face or in my eye. Finally, I went to bed. This morning, my eye felt irritated, but I thought it was because I had spent so much time poking at it last night. Lo and behold, after half an hour, I found the missing contact lens in the corner of my eye. I've put it in to soak, and I'll wear it today. Happily I had saved the remaining contact lens, so I'll have a pair.
All night I dreamed of the missing contact lens, finding it and then losing it again.
It seems this should be a metaphor for something, but I'm not sure exactly what. The vision that is still in my eye? The prodigal lens that doesn't get very far? The vision tucked for safekeeping in the corner of my eye?
Here's another metaphor development for your Advent pleasure. We began our Advent wreath this way at church:
But it became clear that we'd need a helper candle to get the candles lit each week, and so now we have a candle, which can also nicely represent the baby Jesus:
And yesterday, my pastor added the last element, an image that he found on Facebook and got permission to use. He had it printed on a foam board, and it leans against the marble altar:
I love having an ever-changing sanctuary space that gives us more to think about, that gives us another way of thinking about the metaphors and symbols.
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