Old Testament Jeremiah 33:14–16
Psalm Psalm 25:1–10
New Testament 1 Thessalonians 3:9–13
Gospel Luke 21:25–36
My spiritual life is like my rosary, broken several times. Rebuilt and waiting to be patched up again. Longed for when it’s gone and taken for granted in my pocket when whole. The beam of my rosary’s crucifix now lyes apart from the rest of the beaded circle, broken, separate, making me sad. My spiritual like is a bit of a tatter, making me weep.
Having a spiritual life that keeps broken in part is a difficult thing. Some people are blessed with faith — I guess that’s the word for it — that keeps them believing no matter what. But I, I lose hope. I forget about the story I need to hear, that I need to constantly hear. I get lost in questions and doubts.
Jesus says to pay attention to the signs, to watch them like one does a (fig) tree, looking for the green leaves slowly unfolding, taking shape and size, telling us that it’s time for summer to come in her radiant glory.
But the signs for me cause confusion, concern, a cacophony of questions that choke my hope that in the end, all manner of things will be well (thank you for that phrase, Teresa of Ávila). And hope is a thing I need to believe that the signs are signs of a kingdom not of this world coming forth.
The signs seem daunting, signs in the sun, the moon, the stars. Distress among nations because of the roaring waves of the sea. People will pass out from fear and foreboding, seeing what is coming upon the world as the powers of the heavens are shaken. It seems like too much. How am I supposed to hope when all around us the world gives way to chaos and distress?
But without chaos, there is no salvation. It’s hard to remember this. It’s hard to not give up, give in, believe the whole lie about god is only as good as a fairytale. It’s hard to look around the devastation of this world, with a pandemic, failing economic systems, families are torn apart by science and politics — it’s hard to look around and believe that the hand of salvation will come from on high.
Jesus says not to lose heart, and I hear him, but I don’t know how.
We light a candle of hope this Advent, not necessarily because we can hope, or even want to hope, but because it is an act of defiance that gives us hope. Seeing the light flicker and waver yet beat back the darkness tells us that hope is possible and well placed. We may not be able to find hope in the signs we see in the world around us, but we can act in defiance of that hopelessness.
That is waiting in Advent.
We may lament, but it is a defiant wail against the silence and darkness that cannot overcome us as long as we breathe.