If I could, I’d bundle up every day of December in a big sweater and Christmas socks, sit by the tree with a good book, and listen to Frank Sinatra promise me that he’ll be home for Christmas.
Alas, the world is a bit colder, and requires emotions and energy that I’m not always prepared to give.
I hear more news of mass shootings, see pictures of unsponsored children and their families across the world, look into the eyes of a Romanian woman and her two year old begging outside the door of my church, and I am reminded–
I cannot hide inside my Christmas reverie.
The hard and ongoing reality is that Advent is a celebration and a lament.
Advent is hoping, desperately, that all the wrong will be made gloriously right on the terms of a Savior who was flesh-bound to be nearer to us.
Advent is speaking peace over the dark corners of the world, holding our hearts checked against the claims of love, endless and abundant love.
Advent is the warm and cozy moments of drinking hot chocolate and staring at Christmas lights.
And Advent is the reality that we are in the space between, where we dwell in despair and fiercely hope, beyond hope, for a glory-world, re-created.