Buried Biases

A Reflection on the Psalm for December 22nd, 2019:
Fourth Sunday of Advent

Psalm 24

R. May the Lord come in; he is king of glory.

The earth is the Lord’s and all that is in it, the world, and those who live in it; for he has founded it on the seas, and established it on the rivers. 

R. May the Lord come in; he is king of glory.

Who shall ascend the hill of the Lord? And who shall stand in his holy place? Someone who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not lift up their soul to what is false. 

R. May the Lord come in; he is king of glory.

That person will receive blessing from the Lord, and vindication from the God of their salvation. Such is the company of those who seek him, who seek the face of the God of Jacob. 

​R. May the Lord come in; he is king of glory.

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Sometimes I have these buried biases that reveal themselves, giving me a chance to look them square in the face in the light of day.


I had to apologize to my 10 year old friend David because of one. He had done some translating for me in Cuba when his aunt was describing the medicines she was giving us to take back to Canada. As he and his little brother and I were taking our series of ever smaller planes home, I asked if his aunt was a nurse because I could tell, even with the language barrier, that she was used to talking to people about medicine.  David said, ‘No, she’s a doctor for kids.’ Of course. A paediatrician. But that wasn’t my default. She was a woman, and I supplied the word ‘nurse’ instead of ‘medical professional’. I apologized to David for exposing him to my buried bias. I certainly didn’t want it to become part of his assumptions, so we brought it into the light where we both could look at it.


As I read Psalm 24, a different buried bias made its way to the surface for me to see it.


I would never say with my mouth that God isn’t here, isn’t integral to every part of this world, holding in one hand the strings of an atom, cupping in the palm of His other hand the breadth of the universe. Establishing and upholding it all. But the opening stanza of this psalm reveals my hidden heart bias. Deep down, without actively thinking about it, I’ve been seeing here as ours and heaven as His. Our mess and His perfection. But the opening part of this song peels back the curtain over my eyes. It’s all His. And then, right on the heels of this declaration, comes the invitation in the refrain, the response.
May the Lord come in.
May the Lord come down. He has. That’s ad venire... Advent… to earth.


But the second stanza almost knocks the breath out of me. We are invited to come up. To His holy place. This division between heaven and earth was never meant to exist. A false dichotomy, my buried bias. But this ascension is conditional; only those who are clean can come. As I read this, I start to close the door between here and there. I am not clean enough. I cannot go up to Him. Then comes the refrain revealing the Way.
May the Lord come in.
Only as Jesus comes in to my very being can I go up. His ad venire… Advent… to me.


And as angels and animals meet in a stable, heaven and earth move toward one another in the face and fists and tiny toes of a baby in the hay. The face of the God of Jacob.
He is king of glory sleeping amidst the muck.
We are meant to meet Him, to seek Him. Our ad venire… Advent… to Him.


​Noreen Smith

Photo by Vincentiu Solomon on Unsplash

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