Hope as Protest

Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall, but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. —ISAIAH 40:30-31 (NIV)

Advent is a time marked by waiting. We wait for God to make all things right. For justice to be meted out. For world leaders to make the right decisions. For wrongs to be righted. For our communities to be safe spaces for the vulnerable. For our earth to heal. We wait for our lives to get easier—for us to have the financial security we need, for our relationships to be restored, for our bodies to ache less. We wait for our parents to understand us and our families to feel whole. We wait for our kids and grandkids to be healed or come back home. We wait for the grief to end.

But the waiting of Advent is one marked by hope. We wait with expectancy. With anticipation for the inbreaking of God to make all things new. And yet, hope can feel like a drug that must be carefully administered. Too much and we’re setting ourselves up for disappointment or disillusionment. Too little and we’re freighted with despair.

As we sit amidst our shattered dreams of what was not possible or what came undone, of what we have lost or of what was never healed, it is difficult to know what hope is supposed to look like...now. What are we hoping for exactly? How do we find real hope in the midst of all our disappointment? How do we stay awake to the kind of possibility Advent asks of us?

Especially when we no longer have the privilege of childish dreams of sugar plums and gumdrops. We have been awakened to the reality of pain and suffering. We no longer crave niceties or easy promises. We want the really real. We need true hope.

Of course, there will come a day when we don’t need to hope. Like the psalmist describes, a future will come where we will “run and not grow weary, walk and not be faint” (Isaiah 40:30-31). The long arc of God’s love will redeem and remake the whole world—and us in it.

Hope, then, is the function of struggle. It is the realization of our limitations or of our lack of agency or of the inability for us to save ourselves and the ones we love. This kind of hope is not a wishlist sent to Santa Claus. Advent hope is gritty. It shirks all false optimism. It is hope as protest. Hope in the face of impossibilities. As writer Barbara Brown Taylor said, “whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”

As we wait—expectantly—for God to break into our world, into our communities, into our lives, may we have the eyes to see, soft hearts toward others, and open hands to what God has for us now. Trusting that something new is going to break forth amid this Advent darkness.

PRACTICING ADVENT TOGETHER

For the first night of Advent, gather your family together over dinner, invite over some friends, or FaceTime your parents or grandkids. Create your Advent wreath. You can purchase one online (there are some cute ones on Etsy) or make one yourself with items from around your house and yard or from the local craft store. They usually include five candles (3 purple, 1 pink, and 1 white in the center), surrounded by some sort of greenery. The greenery (be it real pine boughs or holly or plastic garland) represents life that is ever-green and growing. The Advent wreath began in 1839 in a shelter for orphans and neglected children. Each night of Advent, a German pastor named Johann Hinrich Wichern gathered the kids around him to light a candle, tell them a story, and pray. Imagine their excitement as the candle pushed back the darkness more and more, one night at a time. Any child called John or Joan would be first to help light a candle as they heard about John the Baptist who prepared the way for Jesus. Visitors who came to the orphanage loved the wheel-shaped chandelier and so the custom spread as churches and families adopted it, though the number of candles were eventually reduced to 4 for each Sunday of Advent, and 1 on Christmas Day.

• Turn down the lights, gather around the Advent wreath, and read Isaiah 40:30-31 aloud.

• Light the first purple candle and read this blessing from The Lives We Actually Have (p. 40) as a prayer:

“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me.” —JOHN 14:1, NKJV God, these are darkening days, with little hope in sight. Help us in our fear and exhaustion. Anchor us in hope. Blessed are we with eyes open to see the accumulated suffering of danger, sickness, and loneliness, the injustice of racial oppression, the unimpeded greed and misuse of power, violence, intimidation, and use of dominance for its own sake, the mockery of truth, and disdain for weakness or vulnerability —and worse, the seeming powerlessness of anyone trying to stop it. As we wait—expectantly—for God to break into our world, into our communities, into our lives, may we have the eyes to see, soft hearts toward others, and open hands to what God has for us now. Trusting that something new is going to break forth amid this Advent darkness.  Blessed are we who ask: Where are you, God? And where are Your people —the smart and sensible ones who fight for good and have the power to make it stick? Blessed are we who cry out: Oh God, why does the bad always seem to win? When will good prevail? We know you are good, but we see so little goodness. God, show me your heart. How you seek out the broken, lift us on your shoulders, and carry us home— no matter how weak we’ve become. God, seek us out, and find us, we your tired people, and lead us out to where hope lies where your kingdom will come and your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Fill me with your courage. Calm me with your love. Fortify me with your hope. P.S. Open your hands as you release your prayers. Then take hold of hope. As protest.

DISCUSS THE FOLLOWING BELOW:

1. What is your favorite part of getting ready for Christmas? How in the past have you practiced Advent?

2. Do you find it easy to hope or is hope hard to conjure? If you feel comfortable sharing, what has made hope hard to hold recently?

3. What does hope feel like for you? Has there been a time when hope has felt toxic? Have you ever realized you were hoping for the wrong things?

4. What is the difference between hope and optimism? Is there room to expand or redefine your understanding of hope?