Advent Week 1: Daring to Hope

"Come, thou long expected Jesus . . ."

Oddly enough, that hymn was one of the first I learned as a kid. My family sang it in the dark, often snowy nights of the first Sunday of Advent as we read our own Advent liturgies. Gathering around the Advent wreath set up on the kitchen table, I'd tussle with my siblings to see who'd be able to strike the match when we got to the candle lighting part. I loved lighting the candle and watching the shadows from the pine wreath dance on the wall after the flame sizzled with wet wax. So small, yet in retrospect such a profound, defiant act to declare Christ's coming.

Things have changed a lot since I begged to strike a match against a box at the beginning of December. The world no longer seems to hold the safety and serenity that I was privileged to have during my own blessedly peaceful childhood just over a decade ago. Candles seem like a silly way to celebrate a world where greed, dishonesty, and oppression are on a seemingly unstoppable progression of exponential growth. 

Maybe it's just the process of living into adulthood, but every year I wonder at those candles. Sometimes I have to ask: Jesus, seriously, where are you? Wasn't the world supposed to be better already? What's the point in lighting these candles every year and singing songs from the eighteenth century when there is so much suffering and pain and it's getting worse, not better?

Yet somehow, I still find myself lighting those candles every year. Why? Often I'm not sure. Tradition. Comfort. A desire to have things feel the way they felt when I was ten.

But I also think there's something deeper. Advent is the beginning of the ancient calendar year of the Christian church. There's something weirdly comforting in thinking that I'm able to participate in the same faith practice as a young woman in fifth-century Armenia or an old man in eleventh-century India or a beggar in sixteenth-century Palestine. In lighting those candles, I can practice faith with my brothers and sisters across both time and space. 

Just as others have endured within the loving fold of God, so too can I. Just as others have managed to fight against injustice and the pain it breeds with the hope of Christ, so too can I. There is a gift in tradition that transcends my doubt. Sometimes nothing is a greater gift than being able to walk in the footsteps of those who have gone before me.

Lighting the Advent candle is an act of connection, an act of hope. It's the gift of a new start and an antidote to despair. It's a reminder to wait expectantly for the fulfillment of God's promises.

As I enter into the rhythm of Advent, I walk alongside the life of Christ, joining the uncountable masses across continents and millennia. Together, we all remember the Incarnation and look forward to the world he has promised. A world of peace, of kindness, of joy, and of justice, just like the prophet Isaiah foretells.

This Advent, may we embrace the waiting and wondering, holding fast to the Light who draws near.