This week we are holding close
to our hearts the countercultural language of Advent. We are letting the words of hope, peace, joy,
and love sing and sit, perhaps unsettled, in our hearts. Don’t worry if you don’t have the “perfect”
definition, expectation, and way you are going to prepare for hope to
enter. In the wayless way of life, what
we think about hope today might be different when we step into the straw to
stand before God’s love incarnate on Christmas Eve. How you plot and plan for joy this season
might get tossed out the window tomorrow when you turn the calendar to
December. The point is not to cling to
or control these words, rather let hope, peace, joy, and love have space to
breathe and be in your life in the coming days.
Take time to gaze (rather than glance or gnaw or gawk) at how these
words are showing up unannounced or catching you off guard. As a matter of fact, what a wonderful
invitation to keep track of how hope surprised you in December, how peace
washed over you as you were washing the dishes, how joy came from a bite of a
cookie made by a neighbor or love was felt in the hug. There is a holy ordinariness to God entering
the world. There is a messiness to God
entering the world ~ with no offense to the hymn Away in the Manger, I
do think baby Jesus was fussy and cried and did all the other things babies
do. Hope need not be perfect and
probably won’t be this Christmas. Peace
comes in fits and starts. We stub our
toes on the love of God and laugh at how human-sized we are. All this is part of the amazing gift we are
creating space to hold and to be held by this Christmas. I pray you find hope, peace, joy, and love in
the most deliciously, delightful and unexpected ways this day. Amen.
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