Sacred Connections: This Advent
Our liturgical season of Advent is a time of invitation to prepare, wait, and hope. And this surely feels reflective of this season we're experiencing in our daily lives.
Many of us may be somewhat comfortable with the “prepare” side of the season. Have we ever seen so many Christmas lights in our neighborhoods? Perhaps a reflection of more time at home, more motivation to be outside, more desire to celebrate in whatever ways we can? Even I bought lights for outdoors, but confess they remain in their packages, and it’s not clear if they’ll get out. Yet for so many, preparation seems to be on full display this year.
However, any kind of “waiting” this season may be wearing a bit thin. For many of us, patience seems to be fragile and easily shattered at the least provocation. We’re all a little frayed about now. Our stories and reasons may be markedly different, but 2020 has been testing us mightily and the strain is beginning to show. We try to treat each other a bit more gently and reel ourselves back into the reality that five more minutes in line really does no harm. But for many of us, waiting patiently to get to the other side of this difficult stretch, has become only more challenging as time has gone on.
And this season we surely long for hope. We can see the encouraging signs around us. We’ve already gotten through so much together, and early data is so promising around several emerging vaccines. There is every reason to hope for a better 2021 once we weather the earlier part of the new year. But we also know we are likely facing a long winter, physically and psychologically. Even though hope is well grounded, we may not be feeling it yet.
It was with these thoughts that I encountered this Sunday’s Advent lesson for Children’s Liturgy: “Advent is a time for remembering and hoping. We remember the wonderful things that God has already done. And we wait with hope for the new things that God will do.” There is such beautiful and transformative wisdom within that lesson, the wisdom to simply keep our eyes on God.
As I prepared to share a few thoughts with our children, I felt quite grateful for the places their lesson had led me. On the remembering front, I found myself going through boxes of old Christmas ornaments to find the two that I wanted to tell our children about. One was a painted star my son, Ryan, brought home to me from school when he was five years old. There had been a mix-up, and the star he gifted to me had his class-mate’s name on it. For me, it was still a cherished gift of love from my son; and it has held the place of honor atop every Christmas tree we’ve ever put up.
The second ornament was a miniature book of Christmas Carols given that same year to Ryan from his Grumper John. Grumper John was not related to us in any familial sense, but we were closest of family by love. And sadly, it was only a few years later that Grumper John passed on. Memories flow forth from both of these ornaments, memories of the times we shared over 35 years ago, memories still cherished today. I’m usually so caught up in what I’m doing that I don’t stop to savor memories, yet these memories help me recall such beautiful gifts of love.
And the Children’s Liturgy lesson invites us to hope in the new things God will do. That hope is beyond vaccines and other remedies of this turbulent time. Hope in God feels grounded in God’s love, God’s presence, God’s steadfastness despite the turmoil that surrounds us still. Hope in God seems like something we can lean into more fully, especially in times like now.
This Advent, might we take the time to cherish our memories of the wonderful gifts of God’s love – love that God has given us through so many people, through so many years. This Advent, might we entrust our hope to God – God already in our midst, and the new possibilities yet to come.
