I live along the Old Santa Fe Trail, one of three major roadways originating nearly 200 years ago along the Missouri River heading west. Recently a landscape crew dug up a horseshoe in my front yard that dated back to the era of wagon trains, frontiersmen, and pioneer families. As one who values history, I reverence my abode more because of its connection with brave, adventurous trailblazers who once passed this way.
In modern times, we cannot conceive of the struggles they faced along the rugged journey. Much worse and a little further south was the Trail of Tears traveled by indigenous people who were driven from their native homelands, mostly in the southeastern regions of our country, through the Indian Removal Act of 1830. It is difficult for most of us to fathom being forced to vacate our land and home, yet we hear stories of ancestors, like mine who boarded coffin ships during the great potato famine of Ireland, or current refugees from Sudan, Ukraine, or Afghanistan, and hardships of many from Latin America and other countries where citizens feel pressured to flee. Theirs is a grueling and arduous journey.
As November ends, our church flips the calendar to the Season of Advent, a time to reflect upon the grueling and arduous journey that began Christianity. Our December trek also includes three major paths: the trail of confusion that Mary, the young maiden of Nazareth, took to Ein Karem for the famous visitation with her relatives, the trail of hope that she and Joseph took to Bethlehem for the Messiah’s birth, and the trail of escape that the three of them took to Egypt fleeing tyranny and terror. Advent is a liturgical and spiritual road to which we are beckoned each December. It unites us with the journey of the Holy Family and connects us with their courageous ventures.
Every cattle drive or wagon train needs a trail boss, every unchartered path needs a trail guide, and every flock needs a shepherd. Christians can discover Him, three in one, while plodding the Advent Road. It begins with one crying out in the desert: “Prepare the way of the Lord!” Like for those who traveled the Santa Fe, the Trail of Tears, the Journey to Bethlehem, the Flight into Egypt, the way is challenging. Ironically, the Advent sojourn does not take us to a destination as much as it takes us to a starting point for new life. It happened for Mary and Elizabeth as mothers, for Joseph and Mary as divinely chosen parents, for them and Jesus as an immigrant family, for nineteenth century westward bound pioneers as subduers of land and settlers of a new frontier, for migrants today as citizens who hunger and thirst for a better life. Advent leads to Christmas, the ultimate icon for new life, during which we turn the page from an old year to a new one filled with resolutions, hopes, and untapped horizons.
Remnants of the Santa Fe Trail can be found in old wagon wheels, skulls and bones of livestock, or burial plots of travelers who died along the way. It was fateful for even the most courageous. Today, many people also travel toilsome paths. If the road you travel is one of despair or anxiety, unite it with the trail of sadness taken by Native Americans or the trail of unpredictability taken by westward bound citizens. If the street you trod is one of hardship or suffering, unite it with the trail of dark mystery taken by the holy ones of sacred scripture 2,000 years ago. Remnants of faith also remain in the stories of Advent and Christmas. Let Jesus be your trail boss who lays out the map and keeps you secure; let Him be your trail guide who points out magnificent, often hidden, sights and insights along the way for you to treasure in your mind and heart; let Him be your good shepherd who will guide you safely to your new home or new way of life. Perhaps a bright beginning awaits you also in times ahead.
