Morning meditation

 

Yesterday in worship, we began the season of Advent by lighting the candle of hope.  In some ways the language of Advent is countercultural.  Talking about hope, peace, joy, and love in the world today seems Pollyanna on the one hand and downright foolish/silly on the other hand.  After all, our wonderfully linear/logical brain wants to point out, there are reports of discrimination everyday and wars raging, and we don’t feel “safe and secure from all alarms”.  Given the evidence the headlines present to us daily, hourly, and with the constant dinging of notifications on our phones, how can we dare to light candles of hope, peace, joy, and love?  Perhaps what we hear each night on the news is not the only truth.  Perhaps God is working not in the special or spectacular or splashy but in the still small voice on a silent night filled with star light when amid the hustle and bustle of Bethlehem ~ chaos from the census crowding God’s presence ~ most of the people missed the star. 

Wait…go back and re-read that last sentence.  What we are prepare for ~ the arrival of God in the flesh in the vulnerable form of an infant ~ didn’t make the headlines of the day.  Caesar didn’t stop oppressing people.  Herod didn’t stop being paranoid and plotting to squelch anyone.  Tax collectors didn’t kneel before the manger and stop demanding money.  As a matter of fact, for most people God’s entry didn’t change their lives in any noticeable way.

Except.

Except for a few shepherds who were watching the stars, trying to keep warm, and who heard the angels singing.  I believe that others might have heard the faint chorus and thought it was some people who had enjoyed too much wine.  Or maybe they were so caught up in grumbling and mumbling about Ceasar that they missed the light.  Or maybe, like too many of us, we are convinced that hope is nice to talk about in church but isn’t all that realistic outside the sanctuary walls.  After all, we don’t want to look foolish.

Maybe we light a candle of hope so that we can see/encounter/experience hope amid the shadows of today.  Maybe we light a candle of peace to guide us not only in the dwindling of 2023, but the dawning of 2024.  Maybe we light a candle of love to rekindle the flame of God’s presence in our lives.  Maybe we light a candle of joy so that laughter and play can remind us that joy can be found even here and now. 

I invite you today to take out a piece of paper, write down the four words of Advent (hope, peace, love, and joy), and spend time working out a definition for each.  You may start with Google, but try to find your own words.  Look in the rearview mirror of the art project of your life asking, where did you experience hope this last year ~ define and describe that moment.  Where did you taste peace ~ what flavor and color was it?  Where did you feel unconditionally love ~ who shared that God-gift incarnationally/in the flesh with you?  Where did joy overtake your soul so deep you laughed until you cried? 

I don’t know if I can really assign homework in a morning meditation, but I am going to anyway.  Four pieces of paper, four words (hope, peace, love, and joy), and begin to hold each close to your heart to see what light of God starts to dawn even in this world we call, “home” right now.  May God awaken your sacred imagination to God’s presence here and now with you.  Amen.