I spent last Christmas Eve with 11 folks crammed in my basement watching our candlelight service via live stream. There was a certain charm to it. But this year I eagerly anticipate three in person services with all of you. Advent means waiting and the kind of waiting where we lean forward with a sense of hope that life can get better if God breaks in among us. And yet we all know that our anticipation is marred by a haunting sense that so much is still not right among us. Rancor in government, racial tensions simmering with each high profile trial, and news of variants with new names keep us from hoping that peace on earth is just around the corner.
I recently read about the difference between optimism and hope. London pastor Sam Wells tells the story of James Stockdale, a US Navy pilot in the Vietnam War. Stockdale was held in a POW camp for seven years. He described how some of his fellow POWs were optimists. They said, “We’ll be out by Christmas.” And when they were not, they said, “We will be out by Easter.” And some of them died of a broken heart. But Stockdale was not so optimistic. Though he never doubted that he would one day be released and that this horrific and terrible event would define him and make him into someone new. Genuine hope is different from optimism. It is not about putting a positive spin on a terrible series of events. Rather, says Wells, “ Advent hope recognizes how bad things really are but knows God is always bigger.”
This Sunday’s scripture says:
“By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:78-79)
Advent does not invite us to deny the darkness. Rather we are free to name our worst fears. Because it is in the midst of the pain of real life that God breaks into the world. Advent means that Christ comes among us.
Grace and Peace,
Carla
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